Passion and Loneliness
by Nindy Kyoko Shinretzu
Summary: SEQUEL TO THE 130 DAYS - Vegeta has returned to live on Capsule Corp and Goku is back, but earth is faced with imminent destruction in 3 year's time. While Vegeta struggles to become a super saiyan, only Bulma manages to draw near. Infamous 3-years.
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes:** Here it is then, the beginning to the sequel to 'The 130 Days' and to my take of the infamous 'three years', using the groundwork I laid down in my story of Vegeta's earlier stay on Capsule Corporation. I've made the first chapter as well and will upload with the prologue (this) and the first chapter simultaneously.

I'm enjoying my pressure-less writing right now; not feeling rushed or anything to meet some kind of deadline – and this is what I'll keep doing: I have my exams coming up and such, so my writing is merely for relaxation, and hopefully for your enjoyment ;). So it may take a while before another update is due, but I hope you'll enjoy and I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the sequel so far.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

* * *

Prologue

"Oh! I didn't know we had any guests dropping by! Goodness, I definitely need to put on another pot of tea," Bunny Briefs exclaimed while holding a tray with a sugar bowl and pink ceramic teacups in her right hand and pouring tea to the white pavement that was laid in between the patches of grass of Capsule Corporation's garden with the other.

Capsule 3 had just come spiraling from the skies, crash-landing where Yamcha, Bulma and her mother had just been talking and enjoying the mild, spring-weather.

Smoke billowed from the small crater the spaceship had made in the grass. It hadn't exactly been a proper landing; maybe the saiyan prince had realized the lack of fuel the blond-haired woman had informed her daughter about on the balcony earlier that day a little too late.

Yamcha ran forward, immediately on the offensive against the man he considered to be a thug. The saiyan prince exited with dignity; his eyes closed.

"Vegeta! What do **you** want?"

The human warrior had taken on a fighting stance, but while Mrs. Briefs asked worriedly if the space-traveler would perhaps prefer some coffee, it soon became evident there was no need for violence. He looked down; his shoulders slumped, his eyes dull.

"I was hoping that Kakarot might have finally returned."

That immediately caused a crack in Yamcha's armor of spite and he was so surprised that he spoke without the fierce stance he'd been trying to take towards the horrid man. He hadn't imagined for a second that the saiyan wouldn't have met up with Goku somewhere, maybe even trained with him. Goku had something funny when it came to this guy.

But that crack in his composure was immediately rewarded with a punishment as Vegeta put his focus solely on him; standing inches away from him in seconds.

"Don't remind me. I'm angry enough to hurt somebody, and pounding you might just be the therapy I need!"

But then Bulma walked up calmly and the mystery happened. Come to think of it, she had been calmly watching all along. Whereas her mom had fidgeted and he had been filled with anger, she'd just been watching curiously; as if the man wasn't returning with a stolen ship to the place where he'd committed the crime, but returning to the place he lived with a vehicle of his own. The condemnable atrocities he'd committed didn't seem to be on her mind; and she just walked up to him fearlessly, defying him as if she could just _discard_ the threat he posed.

"Hey guys, what's that awful smell? Oh, it's you! When's the last time you bathed there, bud? You need a bath. Please, this way."

Vegeta felt the woman's poking finger on his chest; saw those glimmering, bright-blue eyes again; faced the reality of her vulgar disregard of personal space; saw her finger beckoning; heard that manipulating voice, intentionally racy as she uttered the last syllables that were supposed to be some kind of invitation… How dare she! Didn't she realize he was the prince of saiyans? Just what the hell **was** she? An existence like that was impossible!

"Well, what?! Do you want me to roll out the red carpet?"

He gritted his teeth and formed fists – then let go and followed; with a huff so as not to lose face in front of the human.

The most beautiful woman of planet earth laughed inwardly as the obstinate man behind her followed obediently; grumbling like a child, but still at her mercy as he should be. That 'lost boy'-look was in there somewhere… she'd best keep him under control with all those people around. He couldn't cope with the others without her help, anyway.

Puar and Yamcha blinked stupidly as the pair passed, and the ceramic teacups on Bunny's platter overflowed brilliantly while she kept pouring. But they were left ignored by the pair that headed for the bathroom. Like they'd suddenly stopped existing.

"Hey you, I left you some fresh clothes. Hello-ho, are you alive in there?!" the blue-haired genius shot at the showering saiyan as she watched his bare back and his perfect naked form through the translucent door, teasing.

"I heard you; you can leave now!"

Annoyance sparked inside her mind. Did that ass have to control **everything**? Not even a decent thanks, sheesh. Being served at your every whim was apparently normal for spoiled royalty. Well, whatever. He couldn't do a thing without her here on earth.

"Why, yes master. Your wish is my command. Urgh!"

Vegeta felt the steaming-hot water cascade down onto his skin and rinse months of dirt and perspiration as he pondered the enigma that was the woman. No sense of personal space or privacy, all right. Her presumptuousness and lack of manners and respect for her superiors were extremely violating, even inexcusable, but still; there was no resisting her. She had some kind of pull over him he couldn't get around.

It had been that way before. She always had her way with words – she knew exactly how to turn things around and corner her enemy.

While he was a tactician in actual battle; heaven be damned if she wasn't one in verbal strife. He could hate her for it all he wanted, but it didn't change a thing. She intrigued him.

But thoughts about her lacking virtues came to an abrupt halt as he got out of the shower, argued with her over a drying cloth out of an old habit to argue about anything that could instigate a decent response, and set eyes on the clothes she'd left for him. They were… **pink**.

She was not teasing him. She was mocking him and his saiyan ancestry!

Everyone laughed as he got out of the shower in green shoes with brown laces, bright yellow trousers and a pink shirt that read 'BADMAN' at the back. The cue-ball that had been wished back just before he'd learned of Kakarot's presence in space and had set off to find him was there too, laughing along with them.

He tried to point out to the woman that this was no attire a warrior should be wearing, but all she did was comment on how he at least smelled good and burst out laughing again.

Only the threat to blast them shut them up, but as always; she was not impressed. She actually turned to him quite kindly, reassuring him that Goku would show up here in the end and that he'd best wait alongside them. He let it slide; maybe she was right.

Bulma felt pleased. She'd gotten through to him again. He'd calmed down and almost mindlessly followed her every lead, even barbequing with Yamcha, Puar and Oolong present without any note-worthy incident passing… until he sensed an icy, familiar ki draw nearer.

"So we failed, after all! Frieza's still alive and he's coming!"

His drink fell to the floor and the glass shattered as he slammed his hands onto the table, completely thrown off balance by the ominous feel of his former tormentor nearing earth.

"Wait, how do you know? Maybe it could be somebody else. Come on!" the man with a cross-shaped scar on his left cheek and one above and below his right eye argued, sweat forming onto his head as he tried to shield himself from the ki's feel with reason.

"I know! I make it my business to know! Unlike you."

The anger and hurt Vegeta felt coursing through his veins were enormous. Didn't those fools realize that if anyone were to know how Frieza's ki signature felt, it would be him? He'd been rotting away on his spaceship and doing his dirty jobs his whole life.

Yamcha piped up angrily, but then Bulma got into it again; clear-headed as always, asking him if he wanted a bit more sauce to go with his food, for crying out loud. But her lead still calmed him down and he sat down again, shielded from the terror of Frieza for one, short moment by the simplest possible of comments.

It didn't take long until he set off to face him, though, closely followed by Yamcha who had trouble keeping up with the prince's speed. They'd only shortly been standing on the rocky spot where he'd be touching down when they heard the sound of the jet-copter out of which the orange-wearing heiress and shapeshifting Puar soon jumped after putting it to the ground.

Vegeta couldn't believe the woman. Here they were on the most dangerous spot of earth, a ninety-nine percent certainty of snuffing it sooner or later, fighting odds; and she just joined them stupidly, knowing full well what might happen, just because she didn't want to 'miss out'. She'd clearly taken 'insane' to a whole new level.

And when the three-eyed moron and his dwarf of a clown-friend joined the party his annoyance with the insanity of the people surrounding him in general did nothing but increase; the whole bunch was completely oblivious of who Frieza was, what he could do, the technological methods he was already using to scan this area of earth…

At least the lizard's arrival instilled them with some sense as they were all able to appreciate the full, massive force that was the monster in his final form; more powerful than he had ever been, even when Kakarot had faced him as a super saiyan on Namek.

Then the whimpering began; the three-eyed fighter that still had enough reason left to hate him was part of the sounds of complaint at the evident impossibility they were put up against, but especially the pitiful boyfriend of the woman's proved to excel at it. Typical.

While they were nearing the spider-shaped spaceship with suppressed energy levels so as to shield themselves from notice through the Cold's scouters, they suddenly felt an unfamiliar ki already opposing the lizard and his troops.

The power was huge. It was – greater than Frieza's. And with every fiber of his being through a reason he could not explain, Vegeta felt it was not Kakarot.

"Hey – maybe it would help us relax a little if we all sing a song," the aqua-haired heiress suddenly suggested as the tension within the group grew with the uncertainty about the unknown warrior and the battle that had already started.

"Shut up! You haven't had one useful thing to say since you got here! Now you stay in the back and keep quiet, **woman**. I don't have time for your stupidity right now."

"What, stupid?"

She sounded childlike in her apparent 'hurt' and the saiyan prince felt that he was fuming with hardly constrained anger.

And of course her boyfriend just _had_ to chip in and play the hero.

"Take that back! Bulma isn't stupid."

"So you think I'm smart, then?"

"Well, I guess you're as smart as you can be, being a girl and all…"

And at that, the woman grabbed the guy's ear and told him she wouldn't let go until he'd apologized. Leave it to that moron to turn her around on him. And he apologized within seconds – did he have no sense of pride at all? At least he'd gotten the woman to zip it with the idiotic, unnecessary comments – and her boyfriend had taken care of distracting her from her resolve about whining to him about whether she was stupid or not.

But after they'd all burst out laughing and settled down again, the human called Krillin commented on how it might have been their last chance to laugh, and something snapped.

The cautious strategy he'd worked out was discarded and he started running towards the battleground were the unknown fighter fought. This was no time for caution.

He watched the destruction from a cliff, soon joined by the rest of the gang. They watched powerlessly as a Death Ball sank into earth, got down, awaiting impact; knowing that earth might be seconds from exploding along with them. But whoever was fighting there was powerful beyond belief – the ball was pushed back and it didn't seem to have caused any effort. It was incomprehensible. None of them knew what to think. The ball exploded but the ki-signature of the stranger didn't fade – seconds later, Frieza's did. Just like that. Finished.

It was Gohan who had caught sight of them; airborne. With a sword, the slender Frieza, enhanced by mechanical attachments, was cut to bits. And the teenage stranger sent a blast at the bits that incinerated every living cell the monster had composed of. In his soldier years, it was pretty much what Vegeta would have called a 'clean job' with satisfaction.

There was discussion about the identity of the boy, but when the woman dreamily said it would have to be Goku, as always having shown up at just the right time, even her boyfriend helped her out of the dream – saying it was not Goku, but definitely a super saiyan. It was not possible – Kakarot and he were the only saiyans still alive. He flew up.

Catching sight of the golden-haired warrior piercing King Cold's heart was one of the most bizarre things he'd ever experienced. And again, the kid ensured a clean job – he was even smart enough to think ahead and destroy the spaceship that still stood near.

But nothing was as bizarre as what happened after that. He left what did indeed look like a super saiyan form, having his hair turn purple and his eyes turn blue, and he called to them.

"I'm heading off to a place near here to meet Goku. Would you guys like to come?!"

He told them to follow; that Goku should be arriving in a couple of hours. Debate ensued and skeptical as ever, Yamcha voted against it, saying he didn't trust the guy.

"You don't trust me, either. I say: go," the aqua-haired vixen argued as she was held up in his arms, unable to fly herself. And for once, the saiyan prince sided with her wholeheartedly.

"Definitely! I've got to find out who he is."

And so it happened that they touched down between the rocks and readied themselves for a two-hour wait. Bulma studied the young man in front of her that seemed to be in his late teens as she had a can of root beer in hand. He was wearing yellow boots with brown accents, dark grey pants, a black shirt, and a short indigo jacket with the Capsule Corp logo on it. He was tanned and had purple hair cut in a flowerpot hairstyle – usually she'd only use that phrase to refer to someone with a horrible haircut, but this guy knew how to make it fashionable.

They all sat down, split into separate groups, onto either rock or dry ground. They'd learned their questions would not be answered – so all that was left now was wait and see if the boy was telling the truth and if they would soon see Goku.

Agitation was rising, though.

"What are you looking at?!"

"Oh, uh, nothing – it's just that I uh, like your shirt," Trunks stumbled, clumsy in his attempt to catch glimpses of his father for the first time in his life, trying to memorize every feature of a man he could not just go around staring at without angering him…

"You would," Vegeta replied sarcastically.

Others were watching the saiyan prince too, though. Well, the saiyan prince **and** the boy…

"Hey – now check this out. Is it me, or do those two kind of look alike?" Bulma quietly asked the bald-headed Krillin who was sitting next to her, referring to Vegeta and the mystery-boy who wouldn't tell his name, both not only **looking** similarly, but even sitting and composing themselves similarly as they isolated themselves on their separate rocks.

"Well, now that you mention it, I can kind of see a resemblance. Well, I mean – just in looks. That other guy seems pretty nice, but Vegeta has the personality of a stump."

"Well, he's a prince," the heiress explained reasonably.

"So what?"

"Princes _have_ to act bored; like the world's not good enough for them."

All Vegeta noticed was the kid that kept ogling at him, though; trying not to make him see.

"Why do you keep looking over here? Haven't you ever seen a pink shirt before?! If you like it that much you can have it!"

"No, no thank you."

"Then knock it off, kid."

The kid blushed and smiled and Vegeta shrugged. Stupid boy.

But the two hours passed and the predictions of the mysterious super saiyan proved trustworthy – the lighthearted Goku arrived in a Ginyu Force space-pod, in the most peculiar looking outfit – but alive and untarnished.

Within thirty minutes, Piccolo was telling them all he could relay of what he'd overheard between the talk the kid had demanded with Goku – privately. The boy had come from twenty years into the future – a timeline in which earth's special forces were gone and in which what was left of earth's population was terrorized by two androids day in, day out. This boy that had – true super saiyan or not – slain Frieza and his father effortlessly, was no match for these beings. And if they wanted to live and escape that same fate – they'd have to train. They could be expecting the earth-bred creatures in three year's time.

In the apocalyptic world from which the purple-haired youth had traveled, that was when all of them except for Gohan would die. Goku was an exception as well – he'd died before he'd ever even heard of the looming threat of androids. A heart-disease had felled him, and the boy had come to bring the super saiyan the cure they'd uncovered in his time; an antidote that would save him; a drug that carried the hope that he would make a difference.

But as tended to happen when together, the gang got carried away after they'd seen the young man leave in his time-machine, enthralled by the wild story of the escape from Namek and the adventures that had ensued afterwards of their long-lost friend, father and enemy.

Bothered by the outfit he'd been made to wear, Vegeta was pleased with an opportunity to ridicule the strange garments Goku was wearing: red trousers, a couple of influences that resembled saiyan armor, strange puffed up sleeves and something that made him feel like the idiot had a white piece of pineapple stuck around his neck.

"For starters – where in the world did you get that _absurd_-looking outfit?"

The low-class saiyan looked down on his outfit while he smiled and tried to satisfy the curiosity of the other saiyan – not bothering to skip out on the teasing remarks that could pretty much hit an open target. Vegeta was too easy.

"It's the latest fashion on planet Yardrat, but I guess it does look a little strange. But at least it's not pink."

He grinned childishly as he got exactly the response he'd been expecting.

"Never mind! Who cares about your stupid clothes anyway!"

Ugh, he would not stand for it! They were the only two pure-blooded saiyans still alive and both of them were dressed like _that_ – as if they were brotherly victims of a bad fashion. This was **not** how he'd wanted to be perceived by the world.

But at the end of things, they got back on topic and their ways parted. The preparations began. 


	2. Upside Down

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

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Chapter 1: Upside Down

Every punch, every kick, every jump and every push-up allowed his frustration to grow. He wanted to smash everything around him, lose himself in exhilarating force that made him feel like he existed, and instead, he was punishing the freedom of his every movement, restricted in a vessel that required the utmost of willpower to move each inch. The buzzing of the simulator was driving him insane, yet he had to continue, had to go on – if he couldn't master this and become a super saiyan within three years, everything would be useless. He felt captured in his own body, ridiculed and betrayed. But if Kakarot had been able to train at a hundred times earth's gravity, he **would** be able to cope with three times as much. He was the prince of saiyans! He'd show him. He'd show everyone. And as soon as he could ascertain himself that the low-class saiyan was no longer distracted by either heart-disease or a bunch of mechanical lumps, there would be nothing left to postpone their promised battle.

Despite the hardships and the seemingly impossible training, the circumstances he'd created for himself on earth this time around made him feel at ease in a strange sense. It was familiar territory. Working towards a clear-set goal with everything he had. It was like he had had a banner that read 'Frieza' on his mind's eye all his life, and had simply swapped names. He knew exactly what to do in the years to come.

Something he hadn't known the short time he'd spent on earth after he'd been wished back to life, or the time he'd spent searching for Kakarot in space. He'd tried to set goals, but they'd been erratic and unsubstantial. They hadn't lasted him long enough, causing him to get distracted easily. But now his fellow saiyan was in his vicinity again – every surge of his ki immediately registered – the ever-consuming goal stayed with him at all times. And in his pursuit of that goal, he'd either make it or perish along the way.

It was a test of his worthiness as a saiyan prince. Now was the time for him to prove his defeat at the hands of Kakarot, his brat and the other humans had meant nothing. Now was the time for him to prove he could still overcome his former tormentor, even though he was gone now the purple-haired youth had made his existence fade completely. Now was the time for him to prove his unprecedented strength, to prove that he belonged to the super saiyans of legend, to make sure he could never be taken for granted or ridiculed again. Ever.

Three years from now, he would put an end to the humiliation. It was the only thing that kept him breathing as he pushed himself past his limits, and beyond… maybe it was the only reason he was breathing to begin with.

* * *

She looked into her bedroom-mirror vainly as she brought a bit of lip-gloss on and put a cotton headband into her hair to keep the unruly perm out of her face. She didn't detest the perm completely, but it definitely didn't suit to be more than a one-time experiment. It just wasn't her, and she didn't like the way her hair felt rough instead of the usual silky when she let her fingertips slide through the aqua curls.

Capsule Corp's heiress had just wanted to try something different; make a statement. It had taken her what seemed like forever, but she'd finally come to accept life wouldn't return to how it'd been before Namek. She'd even started to see it might be for the best; that changes in life were sometimes inevitable, even needed. Like part of her had grown up and trying on the perm her mom had been suggesting for eons was just an expression of that inner transition from clinging to childhood dreams to dealing with life the way it was presented to you and making something of it. Even if all odds were against her; she'd make something of life here-and-now, taking each opportunity that presented itself without hesitation.

But even with that refreshing attitude, Bulma still couldn't help feeling doubt-ridden and deeply dissatisfied with the turn life had taken. And she hated wasting the intricate beauty that were her body and mind on that throbbing disquiet of thoughts.

Death was supposed to come and take the Z-fighters and a great deal of earth's population soon. That was not the main topic of her worry, but it was definitely a catalyst. Without that knowledge, a lot of people around her wouldn't be behaving the way they were behaving right now. And it made her think these irksome thoughts about responsibility and needing to find a way in which she could help preventing this fate that had been predicted to them, not by physical prowess, but by plain ingenuity.

Her father had readied the spaceship Vegeta had once stolen with a gravity simulator that could produce up to three-hundred times earth's gravity. He'd readied it a week ago, and she'd barely caught a glimpse of the saiyan since then. Was this how it was going to be all three years?

Yamcha was either overthrowing her with flowers, sugarcoating her with empty words or showing off by training in front of her. Most of the time it was more annoying than amusing, and it never really impressed her. Which was worrisome. Especially after Goku's comment about her 'having a healthy baby' and Yamcha's ridiculous, pushy response that seemed filled with expectation and with a bit of these childhood dreams she'd finally discarded. It had imbued her with absolute abhorrence and she'd started to wonder if she even felt for him.

Besides all that, she'd been enjoying a couple of private fantasies about Vegeta ever since he'd blown off with that spaceship. Altered memories, was perhaps a better description.

A blush crept to her cheeks as she remembered one of the more popular versions she'd let play inside her mind millions of times, like a movie she'd taped and couldn't stop watching.

It always began with the prince sitting on his bed again – stumped, sullen, subdued. His husky voice saying "I don't" again – at times she even forgot what had caused him to utter those words in reality when she asked him what he was talking about in her mind. "Regret it." That was always the point when her imagination took over. "What don't you regret?" He'd always turn to her with his unknowable onyx eyes. "This." And he'd crush his lips on hers.

The fantasy had crept into her dreams even before he'd returned; maybe because she'd wanted him to return so desperately. But even though he was near her now, the distance between them still felt impossible to cross. And it had felt more impossible than ever since he'd started his training. He was cold and filled only with a determination to get stronger, to surpass Goku, to become a super saiyan. There was no space for anything else and she really worried he'd end up killing himself this way.

She'd come across him a couple of times, raiding the refrigerator of its contents. Just his aura had been menacing, tormented. And she got all that without even sensing ki.

Being confronted with his tanned torso because he trained in nothing but training shorts nowadays wasn't helping, either. But the scars that trailed his chest and especially his back had shocked her. They reminded her of the harsh past he came from and brought back memories of the months he'd lived on the compound before and of the echoes of that destructive past she'd seen by watching him, talking to him, trying to get through…

She sighed as she finished putting on her boots. Thinking about that man wouldn't get her anywhere. Bulma Briefs was an opportunist, and she'd take the opportunities that were in front of her, ready to be grasped. Right now, Yamcha seemed to have lost his appeal. He didn't seem that ideal of a boyfriend anymore. But humans could change, right? Maybe it was time to bring about a change in the guy and strip him of the same childhood delusions she'd once cherished. She'd see what could still be saved.

* * *

Curses!

Droplets of royal blood found their way to the sterile gravity room floor, he was blinded for a short moment by the singeing pain to his stomach, and the dense gravity kept on pressuring him relentlessly, not caring that his ability to endure it had just about been cut in half. Training continuously in the past week, only permitting himself breaks to eat or sleep, had taken its toll; especially because he hadn't been allowing himself any build-up before hitting three-hundred times earth's gravity. He'd had to have it right away. It would have been shameful to start out any lower than triple of what Kakarot had achieved.

"Assuming defense formation. Level: three."

The floating bots he'd demanded from Dr. Briefs seemed to be taunting him through the slits he perceived to be their mechanical eyes. The lavender-haired man had finished the bots yesterday-evening, and he'd been training with them ever since, not bothering to give in to the luxury of sleep, just one goal nagging on his mind… Besides, he'd sensed that Kakarot and the Namek were pulling an all-nighter as well. And the way the moron's ki had spiked up had made it obvious that he'd been giving a show of his super saiyan powers.

Every time he felt that change in ki, every form of reason just snapped. He had to have it, he had to experience it… the low-class had had no right to attain the legend… it was his birthright, his! But the Gods were mocking him; sending that comedian boy with hair as purple as Mrs. Briefs' orchids, who couldn't even claim the legend by the dormant ability in the blood of his people, hair as gold and eyes as teal as Kakarot's in his transformed state. And the child had slain the tyrant that had enslaved him, enslaved his whole race, in the blink of an eye. He'd even claimed he'd been a super saiyan. It was madness. Just madness.

Everything he had been taught to believe since early childhood, and every belief that had kept him alive through his years as a mercenary… everything was in shatters. And that arrogant, teenage boy was the last of it. He'd turned everything upside down. Nothing was how it was supposed to be. And he was left with nothing but his willpower to set things right.

He stood up in the red glow the circular room was shrouded in, used his anger to find the strength to move his feet, his fingers, to form fists… But he was panting. The cut his own hacking blast had made to his stomach was not **too** deep, but still not quite shallow enough to not bother with his training. He'd have to do something about it later on.

Just… not yet. He could do more. He would show the universe who was supposed to attain the legend. No cut would slow him down. Nor would gravity.

* * *

He just couldn't concentrate. Vegeta had been training for a lot of time now – when he woke up last night, he could've sworn he'd still seen the thing on. How did he pull it off? It wasn't that he, Yamcha, wasn't determined to get ready for the androids, to grow stronger… but he just couldn't put his mind to it. Getting ready for them meant becoming stronger than Frieza, right? He'd sensed the beastlike power that was Frieza's. It was just not realistic. Not for a human like him, anyway.

If he was honest with himself, he knew deep in his heart that it was that sensation, that secret acknowledgement, which kept him from putting heart and soul into his training.

That – and he was distracted by Vegeta's presence. How could Bulma let a guy like that stay here? She'd said she'd had a dream about him… he'd assured her he was in no way jealous, but of course, he was. While it was an insane notion – how could someone who hardly came out of that capsule and showed nothing but antipathy for everyone around him be competition? But then again; he'd lived here before while **he**'d still been dead. And he didn't dare interrogate Bulma about that period of time; he knew how her temper could be.

His shoulders slumped and he stopped throwing kicks and punches into thin air.

"Puar, I think I'm going to ask Bulma out on a date."

"That's wonderful!" the feline chirped up enthusiastically; always keen to encourage her companion's romantic interest in the aqua-haired heiress.

* * *

"This is exactly one of the things I've been meaning to talk to you about, Yamcha. You're going to have to try harder if you're serious about me. You've cast glances at about four, attractive girls younger than me since we've left to go shopping, **and** you flirted with the cashier at that perfumery."

"I jokingly asked her if she had people buying that many perfume-bottles often! And I didn't look at anyone but you all afternoon!"

"That's called flirting, Yamcha. And you did. Don't tell me you don't remember the blonde in the mini-skirt, or that brown-haired girl that winked at you. And I'm not saying I'm angry about it. You feel flattered easily and always try to be well-liked, without realizing the opposite sex might want something different from you. I know it's naïveté on your part. I'm just saying I need you not to do just that if you want me, and only me."

"Well okay, maybe I did cast a glance at a couple of attractive girls, but –"

"Attractive?!"

"But you said yourself –! Oh well, I'm sorry. But Bulma, I'm a guy. Guys look, okay! Do you want someone inhuman? You're still the only one for me."

"Maybe I do."

"What?"

"Maybe I do want someone inhuman."

"C'mon Bulma, let's be realistic! I can guarantee you that you won't find a single guy that never passes a glance at another girl. It's called testosterone. It's not our fault!"

"I want someone who only sees me, and I think I deserve someone like that. The man that deserves me thinks I'm the only female worthy enough to look at or be with, and discards any other female on this planet. Otherwise I'm just not going to be in for it. How serious are you about me, Yamcha? Because that's what it comes down to."

He swallowed. She'd never looked so stern before. Something was different – this was not the Bulma he remembered. He'd always been able to achieve something by just being fun or sweet. But he guessed she was right – he'd pretty much told her he wanted them to get together indefinitely this time, create a family. He'd just thought she'd be extremely happy and would close in on him immediately, pinning him down. Instead, she seemed to be having second thoughts, and he seemed to have to go through some kind of test.

But what the hell – she was worth it. She'd been his first love and he wasn't planning to let a future with her be discarded because she suddenly had new demands to put in place.

"**Very** serious. I'm going to be someone who deserves you – even better."

She cocked an eyebrow, smiled slightly.

"We'll see, wolf-boy. C'mon, let's go to the games arcade."

"You're kidding me?! Oh wow, thank you so much Bulma, you're the best!"

The heiress grinned. He could be so oblivious… the arcade was the best place to test out how determined he could be when it came to her and their relationship. He'd better watch it.

* * *

White butterfly wound-closures formed a stark contrast with the saiyan's tanned skin and robust muscle. They accentuated a lengthy cut; from a little below his belly button to way into his right side. His scars did nothing but enhance his masculinity at this point, and his proud mane made him look more attractive than ever. An undeniable royalty. And his scent insinuated he'd taken a shower, too. But did the man seriously expect to join them at dinner looking like that?!

"Vegeta…" A vein was actually pulsing on the beauty's forehead. Being oblivious about human etiquette was one thing, but **this**…

Her hands hit her hips and her bright eyes started sparkling with a menacing passion.

"It's not that I don't feel absolutely **honored** that you're gracing us with your presence for the first time since my dad build you the **toy** you were unable to **request** instead of demand…"

She paused, her eyes closed.

At the dinner table, both Yamcha as Mr. Briefs gulped in fear. Bunny had left for the kitchen as soon as she'd noticed that the saiyan prince had finally decided to join them. Someone who worked so hard would have to have something on his stomach!

"And I'm thrilled to notice I managed to get something about hygiene into that **thick skull of yours!** –"

The short-haired Yamcha seriously couldn't grasp how Vegeta could just stand in front of her like that. The guy wasn't even blinking and hardly looked impressed. Couldn't he hear the volcano getting ready for the big explosion?!

"But you are NOT EATING HERE IN NOTHING BUT **SHORTS**!"

Vegeta squinted at the woman who was standing on her toes in an attempt to gain credibility, respect and a sense of fear by towering over him. It didn't really do much for him.

"I was not supplied with anything else. You threw my armor out. I asked for materials to train in. I won't wear that ridiculous outfit again. If you expected me to wear anything else; you should have made arrangements. It's not my fault that you're lacking in thoroughness."

"Don't insult Bulma –" the scar-faced human began in a valiant effort to protect his girlfriend from the prince's showering sarcasm; but he was stopped while he had hardly begun by the same girlfriend he'd been trying to stand up for, telling him to stay out of it; that she could handle it herself. There was even an exasperated 'for the love of god' thrown into the mix. He never did realize the value she put on independence and equal treatment with the opposite sex.

Bulma smiled. "I would've thought you'd be smart enough to find your way to the closet yourself. You're thicker than I'd estimated."

Vegeta growled, but she didn't pause long enough to allow for an interruption.

"But okay, no harm done. Just follow me and I'll get you into a bit more suitable clothing in no-time. Then, you can join dinner."

The saiyan warrior looked like he was going to protest, but in the end, he cast a glance at the dinner table and followed her without a word. This was the second time since his return that he caused the former desert-bandit and his sidekick to practically jaw-drop. Unreal…

He watched the woman's back as he followed, pondering her. Seeing her display of fearlessness where supposedly strong humans cringed away by the mere feel of Frieza's power had invoked a spark of the admiration he'd started to cherish for her saiyan-like nature back when he'd stayed here before; especially since she'd made clear to be perfectly aware of their probable, even definite, demise. And then you had that sniveling boyfriend of hers… a laughing-stock. How could **he** ensure her protection? He didn't even have half her spirit. Why the woman would stay with such a weakling was a mystery to him.

"Here you go."

She took an all-black outfit out of the, apparently filled, closet in his bedroom. Black polished shoes without laces like the sneakers he wore to train in had, black pants of a worsted wool, and a shirt similar to the pink one she'd made him wear; except that this was decent.

He nodded towards her, but she did nothing but cock her eyebrows questioningly and lean against the wall, an air of laziness surrounding her. Wasn't she going to leave?

"Please. If you can prance around looking like that all day, you can put those clothes on in my presence too. Don't be such a prude."

He flushed. Why were women so good at reading signs? Or was his body-language an open book to her especially for some reason?

Shrugging, he decided to drop it. Have it her way, then.

So Bulma watched as he put the sneakers and socks and shorts off, put the pants over his boxers, the shirt over his head and the first-aid accessories covering his chest, and as he started on the clean socks and lace-less shoes. He didn't turn to her once until he was done and nothing suggested any change in the heiress's breezy attitude, either.

"Good," she said coldly. "Now, we can have dinner. C'mon, then."

But he remained where he stood.

"Don't take that tone with me, woman. You should remember who you're talking to."

She turned and smiled venomously. "So **sorry**, 'Geta. You look **very** handsome. Will you pretty please come along so you can enjoy dinner, or would you rather famish and fend for yourself like you have been doing this past week? Well – fend for yourself – with a little help from our fridge, I might add."

"Just shut up!"

He had no need for her sarcasm. It had taken the utmost of his pride to allow for the servitude of the Briefs to provide his meal while he felt it to be nothing but time-consuming; to admit, even to himself, that the stupid cut would continue to slow him down if it wasn't paid attention to; to allow for this – this – **break**.

He had felt the ki signatures of the present residents of Mount Paoz preparing for the androids' arrival normalize about an hour ago – but now their meal was apparently over and they were at it again and it was driving him **crazy**. Their ki signatures had become something akin to physical pain, and her taunts weren't helping his temper.

"Are you hungry or what? My mom's probably cooked millions of extras for you by now."

"Humph."

But that last soothing sentence had done the trick. The prince followed the heiress downstairs and the circle their interactions danced in had been rounded once again.

When the pair reached the table every set of eyes automatically turned towards Vegeta. The black, human clothes of a natural fabric suited him better than anyone had dared to imagine and even though it had been a nudge of sarcasm that had made Bulma call him handsome, he really looked just that. More handsome than ever.

Yamcha felt threatened. He'd thought Bulma would have shown him to some clothes and have gotten her ass back to her one-and-only boyfriend after that, but much to his dismay, she'd found it necessary to walk him back as well. He put his arm around her waist possessively as she sat down next to him and watched carefully as Vegeta didn't even pass it a glance and started on the food Mrs. Briefs had already piled up on his plate, ignoring him and his presence at the table more complete than he ignored that of any other.

Even though Capsule Corp's vixen allowed Yamcha's attention, her mind wasn't with him or with her mom's home-cooked meal, no matter how good it tasted.

She was thinking of how it was the first time in a while that she'd had such an up-close view of the closed-off saiyan again, and wondering about how he'd hurt himself. Back when he was still living here, while they both had fancied Goku to be dead, there had been incidents that had made her worry about how far that man could take his **training**. Something that in her eyes would have to mean something along the lines of: 'increasing your strength, speed and endurance, **without risking your life**'. She had been clueless. What she'd seen this past week; Goku present, and a threat of imminent destruction by the hand of mechanical humans… **that** type of training was what was supposed to make you shudder. Those incidents had been child's play. Mere child's play. It was insane. He'd end up destroying himself even before he had the chance to become a super saiyan and prove he could survive the androids.

The meal was finished in silence and after they were done, Bulma gestured her fighter's hands away to help her mom take plates and cutlery towards the sink. Vegeta stayed put for a while, indecisive. He looked tired and the aqua-haired heiress wondered about the amount of sleep he'd been allowing himself recently. Her worry increased and she nodded vaguely as Yamcha stood up and told her he and Puar would be going for a walk in the garden, deaf to the expectation and the invite he expressed in his voice.

Her heart jumped when she noticed the prince had gone when she turned to the table again, double-checking if her mom really hadn't left anything for her to put on the counter, but she heard him coming down the stairs a second later, the butterfly wound-closures that strapped his skin together clearly visible again. She walked up to him without second thought.

"I don't know what you've been putting yourself through recently, but isn't it enough to call it a day and start up again first thing in the morning? It's already past eight. You should be getting some rest in within a couple of hours, anyway. It won't make a difference."

"That's where you're wrong, woman. Every second makes every difference in the world. Every hour of sleeping, every quarter of eating, every minute of talking to you… it's all time that could have been invested into my training. Time that could've brought me closer to ascending than I am now."

She frowned her blue eyebrows; saddened.

"You're so frustrated. Forcing yourself will only work against you in the end. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but you look a lot less vital than you did a week ago, Vegeta."

It was true. And the truth hit home harshly.

Before he'd started his gravity-hardening training, he'd been a force to be reckoned with. But his training regime feasted on his reserves like a parasitic being and he hardly allowed his body the time to recover, super saiyan powers beckoning him from afar; screaming at him to come closer, reach further, dig deeper... he was in a state of constant exhaustion. He probably wouldn't even be able to out-fly that human of hers if he wanted to.

"Well? Do you seriously not see my point?"

He looked at her, a slight look of pain and then resistance passing on his features before they were replaced by a blank, determined mask. He took a step back.

"If I slack off for the rest of the evening, I won't get anywhere."

And with those words, the saiyan prince stalked off through the kitchen door, off to the punishing training that awaited him in the capsule that was his haven.

Bulma's shoulders slumped, but she still felt happy; like she achieved something. It had been their first elaborate interaction in which she'd felt a hint of their old familiarity. A bit of the distance was bridged; a bit of the real Vegeta she'd been expecting back unveiled.


	3. Relationship Tests

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone, here's the second chap; please R/R and more importantly: enjoy!

I wanted to take this opportunity to give out my official thanks to omnipotent Porunga who's been kind enough to beta-read for me since near the end of 'The 130 Days' and provide me with feedback and discussion that helps me polish the story to all it can be. It really helps me to be more aware of what I'm writing and to keep the dynamics straight =): thanks!

* * *

Chapter 2: Relationship Tests

Bulma smiled shrewdly as she walked towards the already decapsulized jet-copter that stood ready on the white tiles of the garden, her right arm hooked in Yamcha's left and a cane basket covered by a plaid in her left hand. She'd convinced him to take the day off and picnic together near the ocean-waves. Getting a bit of wind through their hairs, maybe even go for a swim if the water was warm enough…

It had been too long, and if things went well, chances were they would be breaching some of the misunderstandings that had taken shape between the two of them over the years. Besides; what was more romantic than watching the sun rise on the beach?

Yamcha was yawning, though, and the heiress didn't like that sign of disinterest one bit.

"Hey bozo, would you stay awake? Didn't you say you were serious about me?!"

She huffed angrily as she unhooked her arm and stalked towards the jet-copter alone. It took the scar-faced human a couple of minutes before he could process the danger-signs and be engulfed by the fearful need to act that would have usually overtaken him at once, had she not decided to wake him at a time he considered to still be night. For 'the sake of romance', wasn't it? He'd simply been expected to put up with it. Frankly – once things were finally beginning to sink in – he felt a little annoyed. On the other hand – this was his one shot to prove the sincerity of his intentions. He had to keep reminding himself that every annoying thing with Bulma right now belonged to the last obstacles before they'd finally settle down.

"Sorry babe – I was still half-sleeping. But I'm here now!"

And he managed to get their arms hooked again in an attempt to play the 'cheery, jovial and good-hearted'-card to overrule the chagrin that had overtaken her in seconds.

The aqua-haired vixen was still grumbling – but at least they entered the jet-copter together.

* * *

In the bed that stood in the living-quarters that were stacked within capsule 3, the saiyan prince was probing for the power to even lift so much as a finger. He'd forced himself into a new-found challenge to increase his endurance the night before – sleeping within three hundred times earth's gravity and see how he'd cope, assuming his saiyan nature would automatically rouse him if his body really _would_ slowly start to give in to the pressure.

You could speak of success up to so far; he had not been squashed and he'd actually slept. But he had hardly woken up before he'd started to realize he could no longer move around in the pressuring gravity – the claustrophobic sensation already seeping into his dreams.

It had been thoughtless – when sleeping your ki automatically subdued, at the very least. A lower level of ki meant a lower endurance against intense gravity – but his saiyan nature had kept his ki at the necessary height just so he could stay alive. He'd been wasting ki throughout his sleep and was left with too little to even move from this ridiculous, humiliating position.

But he _had_ to move and get out of there; lower the gravity. He'd die if this went on. Or worse; he'd be found by the Capsule Corp residents and forced to accept their help.

Well not before hell froze over, as the woman had put sentiments like that before. And he doubted if he'd even accept it after it _did_ freeze over. This would simply not do.

Ki… he had to focus.

He dug deep into his strained resources and finally managed to heighten his life-force; protecting his body from further assault by the punishing gravity. He got out of bed and tried to get to the control-board, half-crawling and being pushed back to the floor multiple times before he finally reached it. He decreased the gravity to two hundred times that of earth and started powering up; throwing punches and kicks into the heavy air around him in a malicious fury. No machine would be allowed to mock his ability… not one!

The saiyan prince didn't even think of going to the small fridge in the living-quarters of the spaceship to replenish some of his ki until he fell to the floor again in fifteen minutes' time.

He made his way to the small refrigerator with clenched fists. This was not his day…

* * *

Water was spraying on the heiress's breezy outfit as her perm became even more chaotic while it was rustled by the wind. Her boyfriend didn't seem too bothered as he was wearing more clothing than she was and had cut his hair short just like she'd advised him to soon after he'd returned to the world of the living – but the white, linen mini-skirt and blue top she was wearing were definitely not making her feel better about this whole beach-idea.

Seagulls made their presence known by squawking throatily: 'aw uck, aw uck…'

Bulma really felt she might be getting a migraine thanks to these creatures. And the salty sea-air that filled her nostrils didn't feel like the fresh air she'd been looking for, after all. And while _she_ was spending time cursing herself for acting on this unsuccessful whim, Yamcha seemed uplifted. The guy was actually having the time of his life!

"Look, Bulma!"

Just great. He had thrown another sandwich that had been intended for their _picnic_ to the filthy, scavenging birds, which had, of course, started fighting over it while flapping their wings loudly and squawking even more extremely than they had been doing before.

Her romantic idea of watching the sun rise had been lost to the dark clouds that had blocked the horizon from sight. Palm-trees had been waving frantically in the wind, and her adrenaline-addicted friend had gone out of his mind when they'd even caught sight of a bit of thunder and lightning. She'd put up with it because she'd seen he was having a good time and she _did_ appreciate that childish, care-free side to him; but Gods, enough was enough!

"Yamcha, could we **please** go somewhere with sunny weather and **picnic**?"

"Huh? Why? Aren't you having fun?"

My goodness… had he honestly not noticed that she wasn't? What was she to him, anyway?!

"For your information; I'm wet, I'm chilly, I'm hungry, I'm getting a headache from these stupid loudmouthed birds, and **you've been feeding them with sandwiches for our picnic!**"

He gawked down at her, blinking.

"Gosh Bulma, I had no idea. I'm sorry. So, wanna go someplace else?"

A vein throbbed in her temple.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"All right, all right, I get it! I actually think I know the perfect place. C'mon!"

And he scooped her up as he flew into the sky. The aqua-haired genius saw the beach below her fade; she became increasingly wet and soggy as Yamcha took her through the clouds; but after that, they were bathed in absolute sunlight. It was kind of eerie to watch the grey clouds below her, but it was an impressive sight all the same. It wasn't until she released it that she realized she had been holding her breath.

The clouds kept getting lighter and lighter where they were flying until gaps started appearing in between the white formations of fluff; giving the heiress a dizzying sight of tropical islands and an ocean that consisted of the same colors her beautiful hair consisted of.

Electronically steered boats and small sailboats were zooming in between the islands and people seemed to be swimming, but the scar-faced fighter flew a little bit farther along until he landed on a more private island. Or, island… it had more resemblance to a large rock on which a resilient bit of vegetation had still found the nutrients to root.

Much like on the island where Kame House stood, this place allowed you to see the ocean surrounding you from wherever you were standing; even from within the green bush that grew in the middle, while no-one would see you if you'd decide to sit there.

"This is beautiful, Yamcha."

He sent her a warm smile.

* * *

As a result of his disastrous night, Vegeta hadn't been able to bear with more than two hundred and fifty times earth's gravity so far.

Shame and anger had started fighting their ways into his chest with increasing intensity. The scientist was out today; he'd informed him of that fact the day before when he'd finished improving the training bots for him like he'd demanded. He wouldn't be around if he broke the bots – but restraining his power seemed near to impossible while the numbers on the control panel were continuously confronting him with what he considered to be weakness. He'd tried increasing the gravity multiple times, but it had been useless – only resulting in him collapsing again and again and again.

Rest was not an option – he'd slept, and after sleeping – he was supposed to **train**. If he'd stop to rest now, he could be certain that he'd never improve his endurance. Kakarot would think he was a laughing-stock… and he wasn't. He wouldn't be. He just couldn't.

But it was nowhere near a secret to the proud saiyan that he couldn't stand it – it felt like a whirlwind was raging inside of him. It would be unforgivable if he wouldn't be able to train at three hundred times earth's gravity again by the evening… absolutely unforgivable.

He decided to leave it be for now to fetch some pre-prepared sandwiches out of the Briefs' kitchen for lunch; after that, he'd have to prove once and for all that he could not be messed with. Gravity meant nothing to him.

* * *

Yamcha had chased Bulma across the rock with a camera she'd packed all afternoon after she'd changed into her red bikini and he into his yellow swimming-trunks. The camera that had been intended for peaceful photos of their picnic now shot playful pictures; but the mood was light and the heiress had not had so much fun in a long time.

When the sun started to lower on the west horizon they swam to an island nearby with people and a couple of eating facilities – it wasn't exactly what she'd call 'sophisticated'; but eating fries with mayonnaise back on the rock together definitely made for an atmosphere that was just perfect. She looked at the man sitting next to her, her legs tangling off the edge of the low cliff they were sitting on and her toes touching the calm flow of the water. He really never had learnt to grow up – he was just a boy in love with sports, video-games and goofing off. And, of course, the occasional, welcomed brawl – preferably in a baseball-stadium and not a necessity that came hand in hand with a posed threat to their planet.

She sighed as he suddenly jumped up and dived into the beckoning warmth of the aqua water again, challenging her to follow his example while laughing his endless laugh. She obliged, but she suddenly felt more than ever that it was these moments – moments she forgot that she was in a romantic relationship with Yamcha, and dealt with him like she'd deal with any good, male friend she'd potentially have – in which she truly felt at peace.

Everything between them was calm and natural when they just hung out together, whereas everything became so, so… _strained_ when trying to be a couple.

Her heart skipped a beat as her brows furrowed while she pondered this and she quickly dived underwater to avoid meeting her friend's – no, boyfriend's – eyes.

Maybe she'd just forgotten how it was to have him in the time he'd been gone. She hadn't felt the immensity of that distance between them too heavily before she'd had to live such an important part of her life without him at her side. Then again; she hadn't been too concerned about her future back then. But did that matter? It had been like destiny unfolding itself when she'd met hem in that desert along with Goku when she'd been sixteen, ironically on her way to gather the dragonballs and wish for the perfect boyfriend. And there he'd been… It couldn't possibly be a coincidence, and she wasn't ready to give up on this just yet. She'd put too much time and energy into the socially awkward desert bandit to lay it all to waste.

When she chased him underwater and discarded her worries, she even wondered if it would do much harm if she tended to see him as just a friend at times. He truly loved her and adored her, and there was something warm and safe and steady there… Wasn't that the most important thing there was?

* * *

"Assuming defense formation. Level: seven."

The white numbers on the small black screen of the control-panel were mocking him as he tried to block the blasts the bots were sending back at him.

He could see it becoming darker outside through the circular windows, yet it kept showing it to him insultingly while he kept glancing at the screen through the corner of his eyes: '280G'.

And there was no way for him to put it at three-hundred. He didn't know what the gravity had been doing to his body while he'd been sleeping; how it'd been sapping him of his ki and his resilience – but after all the food he'd eaten and all the time he'd been trying, the amount of gravity that was pressuring him right now was almost too much for him to take.

It was in a fury that he released the ki he was surrounding himself with – and it was still in a state of utmost agitation when he watched the bots fall to the floor: broken and useless.

He stalked towards the control panel and shut it off. It read '1G' in seconds and the red haze the gravity room had been shrouded in faded into a sterile white. His body lightened but he couldn't deny that he was aching all over. And his stomach felt dead-empty.

He'd see if the ditz had anything resembling decent food ready.

* * *

A rough beam of steaming water was cascading onto his sore muscles as he pondered what to do next. The bots were broken and even while there were many things he could do without the things within the increased gravity he trained in; it seemed useless to plough on without them.

He'd been provided with a decent meal as he could've expected from the blonde bimbo who hadn't complained about him eating in a bare, sweaty torso – something he seriously suspected ulterior motives for that did nothing but increase his abhorrence for the vulgarity of the females of this family – but he'd been too hungry and too frustrated with the lack of progress in his quest to realize his super saiyan potential to bother himself about it too much.

She'd gone off 'for a cup of tea at the neighbor's' – something that obviously implied she didn't know how to entertain herself without her husband and daughter around.

Where was that blasted woman, anyway? Her ki and that of the pitiful dog-like human had been in each other's vicinity since before the break of dawn, and he didn't like it one bit. If he wanted to get a bit of proper training done – training in three hundred times earth's gravity, like he was supposed to actually _withstand_ and like he would _have_ to withstand after his meal, this shower and resting up a bit – he needed to have properly functioning bots.

And even though he'd been making her father go about his training equipment up to so far, he knew perfectly well that she'd be able to do it just as well. She had the knowledge.

The saiyan prince opened the doors of his bedroom-closet after getting out of the shower and ki-drying himself. He hardly bothered to scan the contents as he simply proceeded to pull a pair of khaki pants and a long-sleeve shirt of a royal blue out of its depths.

He went down to the living room and sat down on the burgundy arm-chair he'd occupied so often in what felt like eons ago. While remaining awake and alert, he closed his eyes and allowed his tense muscles to relax. The woman ought to show up here sooner or later...

* * *

"So you're really propositioning to go out and dance tonight?"

Bulma was glowing with a surprised kind of happiness as she looked up at her boyfriend while they exited her jet-copter into the crisp, spring-air of the Capsule Corp garden. He grinned down at her; humor apparent in his black eyes.

"Sheesh babe; no need to look so dumbstruck. I know what my girl likes, you know!"

"Why apparently you do," she giggled, playfully putting a finger to his lip. "It was about time for you to propose something altruistic, anyway."

"Whatever, Bulma; as long as that's a 'yes', I seriously couldn't care less," Yamcha laughed.

She rolled her eyes. "Well it is, so we'd better go inside and freshen up for a bit," she told him as she returned her jet-copter to its allotted capsule.

But neither of them had noticed how the gravity room hadn't been buzzing and had been dark at a time when it usually would have been glowing with light, and neither of them would ever have imagined for the haughty saiyan to be waiting for them to show up the way he did.

"My training-bots are broken. You'll be repairing them for me and you'll be doing so **now**."

"What?"

The blue-haired beauty blinked in surprise as Vegeta's words were lost to the confusion that immediately befell her intricate brain – what was he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be training? It could be no more than an hour after they would've usually enjoyed dinner – he usually trained until midnight, at least! And even though he looked livid, Bulma couldn't help but thinking he was looking _extremely_ good – had he picked out those clothes himself?

"You heard me! Repair my training-bots **now**!"

But Yamcha had finally gotten his tongue back and jumped in front of the heiress.

"She won't be doing any repairing, Vegeta. She'll be going on a date with me; we're just here to change outfits and then we'll be leaving. You can train without your stupid bots. You can't just use Bulma because her dad isn't around – you'll have to wait until he gets back and has the time for the likes of you. And I wouldn't have it if I were him."

"No-one asked for your opinion, _human_. And I'd advise you to step aside if you know what's good for you; I have business with the woman standing behind you, and I refuse to waste my energy on pitiful vermin like you. So get out of my way."

"What's that supposed to mean?! I seriously can't imagine what would reduce me to pitiful vermin in that warped mind of yours. I'm ten times the man you are!"

Vegeta smiled maliciously.

"Oh, really? No wonder you shrank a feet while sensing Frieza's ki signature, then. Only someone ten times the man I am would shrink away at the mere feel of his power without actually needing it to be plummeted into his stomach or piercing his heart – one really would have thought you'd have been less easily done away with by someone so much _lesser_ than you."

"Guys, guys; cool it! What on earth has discussing Frieza to do with the subject? I don't mind repairing your bots if it's that important to you, Vegeta; but I'll do so **after** Yamcha and I get back and only if you remember to call me by my name next time. It's Bulma. If you keep forgetting I won't mind writing it down for you either. It's B – U – L – M – A."

Vegeta sweat-dropped as the woman's idiocy distracted him. Had she actually just spelled her name out loud? Please; as if she didn't know as well as he did that he _did_ know her name, but just didn't want to give in to the anomaly she presented to him.

Bulma hadn't been able to distract Yamcha the way she had Vegeta, though.

"Don't mind that, Bulma. He's just proving how small of a man he really is by throwing tantrums and having pity-parties like the one just now. He's living off you and your father's cash without second thought; sees eye to eye with Tien who hasn't forgiven him yet without regret; and now he thinks he can go around disrespecting you and ordering you around like some kind of servant. Well face it, _saiyan_. You no longer have a race you can lord over; you have no subjects; and without Goku, you wouldn't even be alive right now."

The despicable human had started to multiply through the exhaustion of his strained vision as his words kept ringing in his mind like poisonous needles – sharp as blades – and his insides were boiling.

No matter how casual the earthling-clothes the alien prince was wearing were – sparks of electricity had started surrounding the fabric.

The glare he was sending towards the desert bandit was unrivaled in intensity, and Yamcha seriously doubted he had ever seen such loathing sent towards him, even from Vegeta.

Only the soft touch from Bulma's hand against his tore the prince's eyes away from the man.

Yamcha gulped in fear. His girlfriend might have just signed her own death sentence, and it was entirely his fault; he shouldn't have said all that to Vegeta. Playing with fire was _her_ thing, not his… He didn't know **what** was going to happen, but he heightened his ki significantly and tried to keep his eyes as trained on the pair in front of him as possible; making sure not to miss out on any movement from the saiyan's side, no matter how fast it would be, and intervene before he'd start hurting his reckless girlfriend. He had to save her.

"C'mon," she nudged quietly. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you when the bots are repaired."

And Vegeta allowed her to drag him upstairs as he staggered after her; her form multiplied much like the form of the human weakling had been. Small, red veins had become visible in the white of his eyes – it had been obvious to the insightful heiress that the man's desire to literally jump down her boyfriend's throat as soon as his insulting ki signature had entered into the same living room where he'd been residing – however real – had been amplified by the undeniable fact that he'd been pushing himself too far in his training.

If having her repair the bots would calm him down, then that was fine by her. She had been hungering to take a look into the technology her dad had put into those things, anyway.

The human fighter stood rooted to the spot in the living room as he saw the two leave. He knew Bulma had some kind of hold over Vegeta – he'd seen enough of that ever since the saiyan had come back here – but this was insane, and nothing he'd seen so far could have prepared him for this. Getting him to follow her after he'd already had ki sparkling around him; ready to lunge out? He swallowed and put his hands into the pockets of the white tracksuit he'd hastily put on that morning as Bulma'd shouted him out of bed.

Echoing footsteps made him aware of his girlfriend returning before she even set foot on the first step of the stair in the upstairs-hallway. He tried to cover up his surprise and turned to her in what he hoped was as nonchalant a fashion as he could possibly conjure up.

"So babe, think we should just get ready and change into something more appropriate, then?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, remaining to stand on a step halfway on the stairs that led to him. "Have you developed selective hearing or something?! Didn't you hear what I promised Vegeta? We can't go out if I'm repairing the bots for him. Just be grateful I saved your ass."

But now **his** insides had started to churn and boil. He knew she had crazy ideas sometimes, but there was 'pleasantly insane' and there was taking it to a whole new level!

"Be grateful you saved my ass?! You're repairing those bots for him after he was pretty much ready to kill me for a second time? I'll have you remember that assassin killed me – the boyfriend you supposedly _love_ – Tien, Chaozu, Piccolo… Weren't we the reason you travelled all the way to Namek in the first place?! Or has everything become different?"

Even though Bulma whitened considerably, she still yielded to the urge to argue back.

"You were killed by a saibaman and the others were killed by Nappa."

Yamcha was furious and everything he'd kept bottled up inside of him up to now was spilling out like venom that had been brewing in a closed-off jar for way too long.

"Oh, and I presume Vegeta _wasn't_ laughing his head off, _wasn't_ giving out the orders? You know as well as I do that those green creatures and that other saiyan wouldn't have attacked us if it wasn't for him giving out the orders, for controlling their – their 'operation'."

"All right, all right," the vixen snapped, "Everything you're saying might be completely true, but things have changed; Vegeta's changed! If you'd take the time and energy to look at him closely you'd know he's a good guy, Yamcha. It's that Frieza – he drove them all into the insanity Vegeta was still living in back then. Even that other saiyan might have been different once – with a love for violence, sure – but not with that complete disregard for anything that doesn't resemble sadistic games or bloodlust. You don't realize what that monster did."

"I don't believe you. I don't know what Goku's thinking; but even if it is some kind of insanity, like you refer to it – he's just made it pretty clear that it's still in there by coming at me like that. You have a killer in your home, Bulma. You have to put a stop to this!"

His voice was trembling but he looked determined. Yet even he had to notice that his girlfriend – she was his girlfriend, right? – was glaring icy daggers at him.

"If you really feel that way: you know how to find the door."

Shit. He was losing her… He had to do something. Maybe he shouldn't have been so thick-headed; having Vegeta suddenly change sides on Namek and even preparing for the attack of the androids alongside them… Maybe the guy just triggered memories that had now become old, outdated – even completely irrelevant. He was a jackass and he was unpredictable, but he still seemed to be fighting on their side as of now. He swallowed.

"Okay I'm sorry – you're probably right. He's probably fighting alongside us now for a reason, even though I can't understand what kind of reason."

And then he waited for her to smile and say she'd repair the bots tomorrow or at least after they'd gone out to dance – to say Vegeta could wait a while…

"Thanks for that one, Yamcha. I'll just go repair the bots now. See you tomorrow, okay?"

And she left the living room, not stopping to wonder if it really _was_ okay to him. It wasn't.


	4. A Persecuted Mind

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

**Author's Notes:** Since I haven't gotten around to replying to all of your wonderful reviews personally I wanted to give everyone a big THANK YOU here!!!! All of your reviews really mean a lot to me; none excluded. It's great to feel so supported; puts a smile to my face =)

* * *

Chapter 3: A Persecuted Mind

Everything was sandy and desert-like on planet Litt. Even the sky held a sandy color, and the depleted soil of the planet had turned to rock and rubble.

Craters signified that something grand had taken place here. Bodies of a bird-like people lay decaying in the heat, scattered along the towering rocks that led to the ravine below. They all had brown, reptilian-like skin and hair that was even bleaker than their sky. The blue armor they wore stood out like a sore thumb, as did the red blood that had been poured onto the ground in puddles and splashed onto the rocks in almost artistic streaks of paint.

"So this is what my people get for being loyal servants to Frieza? How could he order Vegeta to do this to us after all we've done for him?" a still living-and-breathing creature wondered out loud as he shivered against the rock that supported his weak stature.

"Fool! No-one tells me what to do anymore! Especially Frieza."

"You dare to defy Frieza?"

Prince Vegeta was still present on the planet in spite of the havoc he'd sown; still searching, still wishing to know…

He grabbed the alien by the scruff of his suit as he neared him. He needed information.

"Look – I did not come here to fight with you. It was you and your idiotic friends that started it in the first place. Now tell me where Goku is!"

"I've never even heard of him."

"If you're lying to me I will rip your head off!" the saiyan threatened.

"Heh. We're protected under Frieza's treaty. You're the one who's going to get it."

"Really? Is that so?" And he released the alien as he pushed him back against the rock. "The treaty you signed with Frieza is no longer valid, because in order for a treaty to exist the one who signed it must be alive and Frieza's dead. A saiyan by the name of Goku destroyed him."

"Frieza killed by a – a – a monkey? What a joke!"

"I don't remember telling a joke, _bird-face_," he retorted as anger mingled with a mocking humor at hearing that demeaning name. He'd heard it enough to last him a life-time.

The alien was ready to use his ki-imbued gun, but Vegeta's finger was quicker.

"Make my day."

And the last living-and-breathing resident of planet Litt was blasted into oblivion.

He walked upwards; away from the ravine and into the next one where capsule 3 stood waiting. There was a sense of déjà-vu as he walked towards it and he could've sworn he was sensing Kakarot… was he finally gaining on him?

"I **have** to know how you did it, Kakarot; I **need** to be a super saiyan!"

Just as he was about to enter his spaceship, fueled by resolve, the low-class saiyan suddenly stood there. Just stood; mocking him.

"Is it **me** you've been looking for?"

The third-grade saiyan was putting up as innocent a face as ever.

"It's not **you**, Kakarot; it's the key to what's rightfully mine."

Goku was smiling; his right hand resting on his side a little below his ribs, his other leisurely on his hip. A teenage boy with sleek, purple hair came up from behind the earth-raised saiyan.

"Oh yeah – I've been training him," the third-class pointed out; his eyes glimmering.

"Perhaps **I**'ve been the goal of his pursuit?" the boy suggested.

"Nah." Goku shrugged it off. He formed fists and closed his eyes as he allowed his hair to turn to gold and defy the skies by gaining sharper spikes, purposely and teasingly relaxed as if he was enjoying a light breeze. When he opened his eyes they lacked pupils and had taken on a pure shade of teal. His smile broadened. "I think he's looking for what we **are**."

"You mean this, don't you?"

And the arrogant boy from the future endured the super saiyan transformation as if it was child's play.

Golden warriors of legend looked at the saiyan crown prince contemptuously with sneering grins. It was too much to bear. Too much. As always too much.

"Kakarooot!"

He yelled, attempted an attack, and plummeted into solid rock. He could hardly discern the boy snickering when he got himself out of it through the haze of the thick, red moisture that was cascading rapidly from underneath his saiyan mane.

"You lying boy -!"

And he attempted to grasp his throat. He managed and he started to increase the pressure, but it became evident that the boy had **let** him as a means of humoring his enemy.

A blinding kick to his stomach – and he plummeted into Kakarot's arms. The shame was beyond recognition – his pride beyond repair. He was shivering when he awoke with a start on the cold, gravity room floor. He had to train. His ancestry would not be demolished.

And so he started to throw kicks and punches into the thick air surrounding him as the simulator buzzed and while the images of Kakarot and the boy remained to taunt him; their derisive laughter providing him with an incessant resolve to carry on.

* * *

Bulma felt useless. Yamcha had left early in the morning to get some training done in a vacated wilderness somewhere, Vegeta was always training, Goku was training with his son and his once arch-enemy, Krillin was training at the island of that old lecher… all to prepare for the arrival of androids who they weren't able to describe if they wanted to, because they'd never even seen them. They were merely acting on a premonition. A premonition that was sure to save the earth with all the training they were doing. But what was _she_ doing? Here she was with all her ingenuity; sitting on the couch, **at home**!

She let out a heavy sigh and got up. She had to do _something_.

* * *

Yamcha saw the small island with the one house fitting strangely between the three palm trees coming closer as he neared it from above. The weathercock on top of the red roof pointed south and Master Roshi was immersed in one of his magazines while he lay sunbathing on the left side of his house.

The scarred fighter scanned the area as he landed in front of good ol' Kame House with its wood that was painted into a light hue of pink for whatever reason. The old turtle hermit might have thought it'd do him good if he were to ever receive attractive girls on his island.

Krillin didn't seem to be around, though. Yamcha sighed. He'd been doing well with training for a while, but he'd grown restless and before he'd been aware of it; he'd already been flying in this direction. Maybe the man – who he'd never have known if he hadn't been bullied out of the Orin Temple as a kid – was inside, grabbing a bite to eat?

He walked up the two stairs leading up to the white porch and tried the door with its blue frame; bothering the old man while he was snickering, drooling and nose-bleeding over pictures of nude females wasn't very appealing, even if it _would_ be courteous to notify the man of his presence.

But the boyfriend of the most famous female earth knew was relieved to find Krillin chewing down some rice-balls while he was sitting at the table; his bald head gleaming. He looked up surprised as the baseball-player and fellow martial artist entered.

"Hey man, what's up?"

"Nothing much. Just a bit sick of training by myself, to be honest. It doesn't feel like I'm getting anywhere. In for a friendly sparring match?"

"Sure!"

And the two human members of the earth's special forces exited Roshi's home as they went to levitate a little above the ocean.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The six incense burns on Krillin's forehead shone like dots when he charged. Yamcha soon noticed that it had been a good idea to set out for Roshi's island – he was having a hard time dodging Krillin's attacks and was evidently out of practice when it came to actual sparring.

Come to think of it – he probably hadn't sparred once since he'd been wished back to life.

There was still a vast difference in strength when you compared his level now to the level he'd maintained right before he'd snuffed it – for which, of course, he had King Kai, the dense gravity on his planet and practice with Tien and Chaozu to thank – but he was definitely not as strong as he'd been when he'd still been dead. An insane notion; and a worrisome one, at that. He wanted to live! He'd have to try harder, wouldn't he?

But he noticed with relieve that he was quick to pick up the pace the other fighter set. It had been long since he'd felt his muscles burn, his shoulders ache, and still felt that sense of keenness adrenaline always supplied him with.

Yeah – seeking out Krillin had been the best hunch he'd followed in decades.

"Ka – me – ha…"

Yamcha gulped as his friend readied himself for the energy-blast that used to be the signature move of the turtle hermit and his students, but that pretty much functioned as Goku's signature move nowadays, now it was hardly worthwhile to mention the old man when you considered all the evils and limitations in strength they'd overcome.

"Me…"

Yikes! He had to think of a counter-attack. Or maybe he ought to try and catch it; test out his skills for a bit; see how he'd manage and how much work still lay ahead of him?

"HA!"

When the blue beam came at him he quickly blasted it with a simple ki-attack that, even though it was of a much lower level, still caused Krillin's beam to be stopped. He used the smoke that issued from the Kamehameha-wave to fly behind Krillin, but the bald-headed man wasn't caught off-guard and they began trading punches and kicks again. Man, this was quite the work-out! He hadn't been sweating like this in days.

"Good fight, man," Krillin complimented the other fighter as he lay stranded on the small beach of Roshi's island and offered him a hand.

"On your part, yes," Yamcha laughed shakily. "I still have a lot of work to do."

"We all have, Yamcha. These androids are supposed to be even more powerful than Frieza was, and we all saw that kid beat him with ease. And those androids apparently make sport of him where he comes from. Maybe we can't do much, but we've got to try and become as strong as possible. That way, we can be sure to lend Goku a hand," he smiled reassuringly.

"I guess that's the way to look at it," he agreed. He couldn't help but admire Krillin for being so down-to-earth. It was a quality he'd found himself lacking lately.

He cast a glance at Roshi who was still immersed in his magazine and then turned to the other fighter again as he sat up and clutched a bit of sand that slid through his fingers, deciding.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you something. When you were on Namek, Vegeta suddenly changed sides. How exactly did that happen? I've never quite gotten it."

"Well gods, lots of crazy stuff was going on. Everyone was dragonball-hunting and it all became rather confusing at one point, because we didn't know who to trust and who belonged with whom. At first we thought that Frieza and such might be allies of Vegeta's, but we soon found out that they were both competing as well, and it started to stop making sense somewhere around there, so we stopped trying to figure it out and just focused on getting our hands on at least one dragonball and safeguarding it.

I found out that the elder Namek could unlock someone's sleeping powers and I wanted him to awaken Gohan's hidden potential, because that kid sure had 'em – but Vegeta had started sensing power-levels without a scouter and he found us.

He was quite busy threatening us when he suddenly sensed five strong powers coming, and he suddenly became, well, I'd say scared, even – and we just teamed up and decided it was in our best interest to work together. Of course Vegeta went on about us having to make him immortal with the dragonballs because that would heighten our chances of winning – but it all actually made sense back then. We were desperate."

"So – just like that? Five strong powers came and you were allies, just like that?"

"I know it sounds strange. You would've understood if you'd just been there. It was like we were all pawns in this chess-game, and just when we thought Vegeta was the king of the black team or at least a rook or knight; he turned out to be a pawn not unlike ourselves."

"You think he's like us, then?"

Yamcha sounded subdued and Krillin looked at him perceptively.

"Anything happen between you two?"

Yamcha flushed.

"We sort of got into an argument the other day. And I might've said some things I shouldn't have, like him only being alive thanks to Goku for starters."

"Ouch. You may want to be more careful, 'bro. I might be saying Vegeta's not all-evil, but the guy's still unpredictable. You don't want to get at his wrong side."

"No, I suppose I don't. He just gets under my skin sometimes."

"Well, I'm not the best advise-giver out there; but just remember that he's training to fight the androids as much as we are, now. And it's pretty much up to Goku. If Goku says we should trust him that should pretty much cut it for now. We don't have to worry about him turning on us now Goku's become a super saiyan – he can handle anything now, can't he?" he winked.

"Yeah, you're right. Goku'll handle it if things go wrong. And I can't deny that the guy's training. To _death_, probably."

Krillin laughed. "That bad?"

"You'd have to see to understand."

* * *

The aqua-haired genius didn't feel as ingenious as she usually did as she sat in her bedroom, varying messing about with a calculator, books on artificial intelligence, a pen, a notebook and a box of general technological equipment with reading Capsule Corp-related gossip-magazines, eating crisps and drinking soda.

_Androids_… it had become a nagging, distractive word somewhere at the back of her brain. She deeply disliked it; even loathed it. It was keeping her doubtful and on edge.

Doctor Gero could be giving life to the monsters that had been predicted to brutally murder everyone she cared about at this very moment, and there wasn't anything she could do about it but watch the guys train.

She'd been trying to puzzle out how the mad scientist would go about creating them, thinking she could opt the guys about where their weaknesses would lie and once again prove to be an integral member of their team – a genius they just couldn't manage without, the brains behind their brawn – but it was more useless than she'd ever dared to imagine. There were just too many possible ways of creating artificial life, too many structures he could apply…

And so she kept succumbing to the feeble consolation the crisps provided her with and the shallow amusement the magazine brought her.

In the end, she left everything she'd been using scattered on her bedroom-floor. Going downstairs and seeing what her mom was up to seemed a little more constructive than just sitting idle and wallowing in her own frustration like this.

* * *

He was not going to die three years from now… he was not. He'd always thought that he'd either die by Frieza's hands or vanquish him and survive each battle that ensued in his life from that point forwards. He _had_ died by Frieza's hands. And he hadn't been the one who vanquished him. But he _had_ come back. Life coursed through his veins and it wouldn't be taken away again by mere, _artificial_ life that could exist only in symbiosis with the existence of technology. He was more than that. Much more.

Survival had been his sole pursuit as a soldier in the army of the Cold Empire, for each consecutive day he lived he'd grow stronger; fighting at the front, facing death and being refueled by regeneration-tanks again and again and again… strong enough to kill the one who was making him live in bondage; aligned with creatures miles below his worth.

And survival would remain to be his sole pursuit in the training he subjected himself to – each training session he lived through brought him closer to the ultimate plummeting of beings that ought to bow before his greatness – the last saiyan still alive aside from him included.

"Kakarot… I'll surpass you. Mark my words – I will."

The saiyan prince sent a beam at the training bots that immediately started to use the energy as a ball to pass around between them, trying to confuse their opponent by playing around with tactics, leaving him uncertain as to when and at what speed the ball would finally be directed back at him.

What Vegeta didn't know was that a certain human fighter and his feline sidekick had started to watch him train through one of the small, circular windows of the spaceship.

* * *

"Doesn't Ken remind you of someone we know?" Bunny playfully asked her daughter as they finished watching the last episode of season two of the series 'Love beyond Reason'.

"Who's the guy supposed to remind me of?"

"Of dear Vegeta, of course! He has the same type of stoic determination, is straightforward, handsome and always true to his word!"

"You're way out there, mom. Where in the world did you get all that? Besides, can you even imagine Vegeta wooing a woman the way Ken does continuously? I don't think so. The only thing the two have in common is that they're both bad news."

"Oh but I don't think you should consider men like Ken and Vegeta 'bad news', honey. Men like that are very dependable; they never leave you in doubt."

"Because they leave _you_," Bulma sweat-dropped. Gods, her mom was dense!

"I wouldn't be too sure about that! Oh, I certainly wouldn't mind it if Ken were real."

"Ugh… No thank you. How can you be thinking about things like that anyway, while you know we might all be dead in three years' time?"

"Now honey, that's not how we raised you. 'What comes that comes' – isn't that what I taught you? 'Have tenderness for the past, hope for the future, but courage for the present' is another great saying – I think it was in one of these magazines I've read," she pointed randomly to the coffee-table in front of them. "You have to seize the day and not worry so much about the future; in the end it'll all turn out just fine."

"How can it be fine if we'll be **dead** in the end?!" Bulma raised her voice.

But Mrs. Briefs gingerly sipped her cup of tea and smiled knowingly.

"Things always turn out lovely. Just look at dear Ken finding Camilla! And dear Vegeta's training so hard! Goku and he are sure to beat those androids. You have nothing to worry about."

"I hope so. I wish I could think on it in simple-minded terms like that."

"Now now, dear, don't you go underestimating the wisdom of a mother!" Bunny exclaimed. "And it wouldn't be so bad if you tried for a little more appreciation of Vegeta's hard work, either. He's training so hard for the sake of you!"

Her mom couldn't be serious. Vegeta wasn't training for the sake of the **earth**, let alone for that of _her_!

"He just wants to become a super saiyan and beat Goku, mom. His motives are entirely selfish; he couldn't care less if the androids blew us all up."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Bunny giggled. "I've seen him eye you at times. And it's the stoic type that always has more sides than you notice at first glance – just look at Ken. Camilla always thought he was somewhat of a delinquent, and it turned out he'd been protecting her from Robert the whole time without having her notice!"

"Life is not a **soap**, mom!" her daughter countered incredulously.

"Whatever you say, honey. I think it's about time I start on dinner."

And the blonde woman left the living room just like that. Bulma blinked. Had her mom even been listening to her? Then again, she could hardly disagree when Bunny had said there were more sides to Vegeta… but there was being realistic and there was pushing it.

* * *

Watching Vegeta torture himself in three hundred times earth's gravity had kept fresh images playing on repeat inside Yamcha's mind. He had returned from his chat with Krillin with boosted confidence, but it had soon been subdued again by the buzzing and displays of light continuously coming from the gravity room. Practicing your punches just didn't seem worthwhile if you had someone training so intensely near you.

The jealousy had soon reached its peak and he'd just _had_ to go see. But seeing someone as mighty as the once evil saiyan prince fall to the floor in agony after being hit by a ball of his own energy had shocked him beyond belief – and how the prince had managed to destroy the bots after having taken that blow astounded him.

He knew Dr. Briefs had to work late tonight repairing them and had been both surprised as annoyed to find Vegeta continuing his training even without the bots. So Bulma just _had_ to repair them the other day because he supposedly couldn't train without them, and now he suddenly could?! Jackass. He'd just wanted to ruin his date!

He'd waited in the bushes near the spaceship for Vegeta to finally exit the damned thing and head inside to catch some sleep, but it was far past midnight before the saiyan had finally come out. He'd waited for another ten minutes – his legs stiff – just to make sure he could go into the gravity room unnoticed.

'Whatever Vegeta can take, I can take too!' he thought to himself as he entered and put on the lights. He had his reputation to save, damn it. He had pride too and he knew very well how he'd been perceived by Bulma lately. And while training with Krillin and attempting to train in Vegeta's vicinity afterwards he'd uncovered he could hardly blame her.

His training hadn't been proper – he'd been too distracted. And he'd been busy blaming the distractions instead of looking at himself. He was **allowing** himself to be distracted.

Whereas Vegeta was practically putting his life on the line, _he_ was just throwing punches and kicks into thin air like a boy **wanting** to be a fighter. He'd done more intense training than that when he was with Kami or even back in the old days in the desert – and Bulma knew it.

Maybe it was his death that had made him so passive. He was more focused on the life he wanted to lead than on actually living that life – Bulma not being keen on living that life before he proved himself in some way being a factor of that problem. But if he wanted to live, he had to be strong enough to withstand the androids – _and to gain her admiration_.

"Initiating gravity simulation."

And then he waited as the room was lost to a red haze, the air was thickening, the buzzing started… and suddenly he was pushed down by a force greater than himself.

The human warrior managed to keep standing for a couple of seconds, but it was no use. He could try conjuring all the ki in the world – his knees still buckled and he started to shout out in an anguish unlike one he'd ever felt. His right hand, which had been touching the floor, flattened onto it – the pressure to his bones was maddening. He tried to reach up to the control panel with his left hand… he had to make it… he was going to die if he didn't.

After he'd made it at last and pushed the button that allowed the gravity to turn back to normal he fell to the floor in exhaustion. He was even out of it for a while. The gravity he'd endured for a small minute, the gravity which had almost **killed** him, flattened him like a pancake – Vegeta practically trained in it for eighteen hours each day.

* * *

Robotic legs, purple still present on the right shoulder, right arm and torso, a robotic left arm and steel enhancements with strange, turquoise knobs on his chest and face from which the venomous, pupil-less eyes looked at him with the same piercing sharpness as ever. Like a lynx ready to lunge out to catch his prey the lizard faced him.

"The legend you always bragged about so childishly didn't seem enough, Vegeta. Such a pity."

"Oh but it _is_ enough, Frieza. You've been dealing with a fly; a fool who's forgotten what it means to be a saiyan. It's about time you faced a predator."

"May I assume you have become a super saiyan at last then?"

He gritted his teeth as his master snickered.

"There are so many lessons I've still left to teach you, my dear prince… I'd say you prove to be wildly uneducated. You should really rise beyond that monkeyhood of yours – it can be so hard to _grasp_ concepts when still in the primate state."

And the lizard started to laugh maniacally; in love with his own shortsighted wordplay.

"Laugh all you want, idiot. You won't be the one laughing last."

"Won't I?"

Vegeta readied himself and assumed a battle stance – super saiyan or not, all that training wouldn't be in vain. He'd end this himself – he'd been fated to do so from birth. He might no longer have a people he could rid of an overlord, but he'd rid everything that was left of this creature; rid himself…

"Soon I'll crush your corpse beneath my feet," he smiled confidently.

But Frieza vanished and a robotic tail swiftly slid around his neck.

"I'd be delighted to return that favor after I've crushed the life out of your lungs. Which reminds me; did you want a burial or a cremation?"

Everything had already turned black when he felt Frieza being pushed backwards – the metal tail releasing its hold on him. He coughed violently as he dropped to bare ground.

The purple-haired boy from the future stood behind him – his sword piercing the metallic part of the lizard's chest.

"I'm a super-elite. I don't need saving!"

The boy smiled and transformed into the legendary warrior. He pulled his sword back and sheathed it – then sent a yellow blast at the monster that left him completely incinerated.

"Sorry about that – I preferred cremating him myself."

Fury coursed through Vegeta's veins. A teenage boy was mocking him!

"By the way, I've been wondering – want to experience the ki of a super saiyan yourself?"

He looked up at the boy, stunned. But through the blackness around them golden aura was now spiraling towards him and the boy was laughing. Frozen, he did nothing but wait for impact. The buzzing of the gravity simulator he'd been hearing all day seeped into his subconscious as he kept seeing the ki, nearing him. He screamed.

* * *

Capsule Corp's heiress awoke with a start to Vegeta's screaming. The scream faded as quickly as it had come and she glanced around her room as she clenched her pink nightdress and put a hand through her messy perm.

She'd evidently kicked off her sheets in her sleep and the objects she'd used that day were still littered on her bedroom-floor. A calculator, a couple of soda-cans, a package out of which she'd eaten crisps, a box of equipment, a pen, notes, magazines and books…

Her vision went from the floor to her bedroom-door that led into the hallway. Should she go and check Vegeta's bedroom? She hadn't heard him dreaming lately, but she remembered the constant night-terrors vividly from his earlier stay here.

It wouldn't be a first if he'd hurt himself while sleeping…

She put the fluffy pink slippers that stood waiting on the floor beside her bedside on and went into the hallway. If he would remain in his room there was no point in going in there, but the least she could do was check. You never knew just _what_ that man did to himself at times…

Light seeped into the hallway from underneath his bedroom-door. His nightmare had woken him up at the very least. She neared quietly and put her ear to his door. She could hear heavy breathing, but besides that, there was nothing unusual.

Relieved, she turned around to head back to the beauty sleep that awaited her. At least – that was what she was planning to do before he suddenly decided to open his door.

"What do you think you're doing, sneaking around like this?"

He'd sent her a furious look that had turned to one of terror in seconds. He blushed and looked back into his room – Bulma noticed his sheets lay torn on the ground as she cast a quick (and unwelcome) glance over his shoulder.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

The aqua-haired beauty looked at the pink nightdress she was wearing and flushed when she noticed one of her sleeves had sagged off her shoulder and revealed a bit more of the shape of her breasts than she intended to.

"You're not one to talk at all!" she huffed as she corrected the mistake and cast a glance at his boxers, taking her time.

"Anyway; I was just making sure you hadn't destroyed anything in your sleep. But being the saiyan you are, of course you _did_ destroy something… I'm going back to bed, but just drop these sheets into mom's scullery tomorrow and take fresh ones out of your closet for now."

She leaned forward to plant a light kiss on his cheek as a means of bidding him goodnight, feeling for him and the nasty nightmare he'd had, but he fidgeted slightly – stiffening as he saw her near – and she ended up brushing the corner of his lips. The sensation of the soft touch of her lips so near his sent shivers down the prince's spine he had never experienced before, and he couldn't possibly grasp how she could start walking towards her room so casually after having just done something so, so – _intimate_.

Vegeta's cheeks were still slightly pink as he watched her round the hallway-corner.

* * *

**A/N:** Please R/R and look forward to the gravity room explosion in the next chapter =)


	5. Gravity Room Explosion

**Author's Notes:** Hiya everyone; well here it is, the fourth chapter :). I've been busy with exam-revision and will start the 17th of May, so I'm both surprised as pleased that I managed to finish this up beforehand. Thanks for all of the support and please R/R ^^

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

* * *

Chapter 4: Gravity Room Explosion

Vegeta'd only just exited the gravity room and closed off for the night when he noticed the woman walking up to him boldly, wearing nothing but the pink nightdress she'd worn and startled him with the night before. Her shoulders were once again bare; the fabric sagging off of them as there was far too much cloth present to really attach to her delicate figure, and her feminine curves left little to the imagination.

The night was brightened by moonlight, cloudless, and the twinkling stars seemed to do nothing but enhance the sensations she was provoking inside of him. It was like she was an enticing sorceress, and he felt both intimidated as intrigued and challenged. Not to mention; he felt an undeniable need to take her up on that challenge. Yet the outright brashness and vulgarity of the aqua-haired creature were still violating to him; it was not her place to act that way, and _especially_ not towards him. He was a saiyan elite, a prince, and he couldn't possibly allow such a provoking display of a being burdened with such blatant stupidity.

But the gutsy female kept walking towards him and with every step she took, his limbs froze.

It was as if his senses were opening to something new. Something he'd never allowed himself to experience before. There'd been simply no place for such a thing.

He'd lived to increase his strength so he could one day face Frieza, and he'd focused solely on that single goal; that single purpose. There had been nothing else.

Whenever something resembling this sensation had found its way into his stomach, he'd discarded it; deeming it below his worth. But the icy Frieza was gone and he found himself unable to ignore or dispatch it now that life-consuming goal had left him. There she was; hardly any cloth concealing her body. And he wanted her. Here and now.

Suddenly she vanished as if she had been nothing but a translucent apparition; an image employed by his strained mind, rebellious against the shackles put upon it by the furious strain of the prince's obsessive training.

Just when he became convinced his mind had been playing tricks on him, he saw a shimmer of turquoise in his peripheral vision and felt her arms clasp around his chest, her bare hands stroking him playfully, her breasts pressed closely against his bare back.

"Isn't that your planet?" she suddenly wondered aloud, a delicate smooth-skinned finger pointing to the sky.

And the prince allowed the heiress to steer his attention to the familiar, haunting and long-lost constellation of the anchor-shaped galaxy in which the saiyan home planet shone as if it still existed. Space and time were still meddling, would always be meddling.

The prince swallowed, his heart pounding savagely, and he suddenly woke up with a start in his Capsule Corporation bedroom, finding it hard to shake off the sense of attraction he'd felt during his dream, and even harder to stop his mind from producing mental images of turning around to tear her clothes off, ravish her…

It reminded him of things he'd blocked long ago; things he'd seen other mercenaries inferior to him go at during purges while he, prince Vegeta, killed time by killing the flailing and screaming infants of the alien women being raped. And when the simple-minded soldiers had released themselves of their animalistic cravings, he'd made sure to dispose of the women, as well.

It had been what had made him known for his cold-heartedness and detachment. He'd enjoyed slaughtering females who caved in to weaknesses of the flesh with no dignity remaining, and he'd had no issues to make him hide that pleasure. These creatures disgusted him even more than the soldiers did.

Others had laughed about his disposition behind his back, but none had dared to confront him directly on it; scared as they'd been of the ominous man that was the saiyan prince. Maybe the smarter ones had even realized the wariness of their superior who ruled worlds and ordered the purges to gain others, hearing the lizard remark he had "no use for more monkeys running amuck and dirtying the sterile halls of my ship".

Maybe some of the ones tantalizingly commenting on what they referred to as his 'complete slavery' had known. Frieza did love his mind-games. Combined with his talent to cause disgust and the technology his medics supplied him with; the terrors he could install… And some of the spectators had had issues keeping their traps shut. But they'd paid. They all had.

Yet he felt a twinge of disgust as the memory hit and he suddenly saw her brilliant blue eyes flash before his mind's eye, immediately followed by a sense akin to physical pain. Damn. He had to stay clear of her.

He didn't even recognize the emotion that brought that resolve on for what it was. It was completely foreign to him. Fear. And not because he feared to perish before attaining his legacy, like in the past. Fear because he feared his own feral instinct would come to hurt.

* * *

He couldn't stand it, he just _couldn't_, and to make matters worse; it was showing. He'd tried to maintain his balance while standing on his hands since early morning, and he had just finished stretching after that straining effort and started throwing punches and kicks into the lush spring air around him when Bulma had come to stand beside him. She'd thoughtlessly been eating a bar of some kind, but even though he thought it had to show he was training hard, her eyes had been trained on the gravity room alone.

"He's training hard, isn't he?"

That what she'd asked. Innocently; nonchalantly; not-realizing. Something you asked in the presence of a friend who'd sympathize with a newfound affection.

His shoulders had sagged. He'd lost her. He'd already lost her. He could never compare to that. Ever. It wouldn't matter to her if he thought the guy beyond redemption.

And he was justly convinced it would make no difference if he were to tell her of his little nighttime 'adventure'. It would probably even result in making things worse.

She would be furious with him if he told her he'd jealously entered the gravity room last night, trying to withstand the same pressure the haughty saiyan withstood all the time; all just to prove something.

Not only would she be harsh and judgmental about his supposedly needless jealousy; she'd be sure to rub in the hurt and shame at not being able to withstand it. Especially since she'd feel he'd brought it on himself in the first place. And he felt ashamed enough as it was.

Asides from all that; he couldn't help but feel that she'd hate him and scold him for secretly intruding on Vegeta's beloved 'property' as well. And that irking suspicion did nothing but fuel his sense of shame, frustration – and defeat.

Yamcha knew very well he'd annoyed the hell out of his girlfriend by declining when she offered him a muesli-bar to revitalize his energy much like the one she'd been eating; and to then go on by asking her to leave…

With a smile, sure; but "I have to train, Bulma" said enough, didn't it?

Noon hadn't even properly passed yet and already he felt that his chances at winning her over indefinitely were faltering. Part of him was hoping for Vegeta's over-the-top training regime to blow in his face; another part had already let it slide. He smiled ruefully.

'Maybe I should stop attaching the title of 'girlfriend' to her name… she's been out of my league since forever, anyway,' he murmured to nothing in particular.

Puar, who had been inside chatting to Mrs. Briefs, came floating towards him.

"What were you saying, Yamcha?"

"Oh, nothing."

"But I could've sworn I heard you whisper something!"

"Just that I'm happy I won't be the one making the choices."

"I don't get it!" the feline protested.

But Yamcha laughed his friendly laugh and soon had Puar laughing alongside him as he kept throwing kicks and punches into the lush spring air; trying to block out his thoughts and turn his negative energy into something constructive. He had plenty of other things in his life to focus on, all fun – and three years from now, he was planning to contribute what he could.

* * *

The monotonous rhythm of his training regime was all there was. Or at least, it was all he tried to let there be. But the feel of the woman's hands on his chest was ever-present, and it was as if memories from the night before he'd left to look for Kakarot in space were crushing down on him.

_Why_ had he let her sleep so close to him back then? _Why_ had he let her console him in such a way? _Why_ did he keep letting things happen that were demeaning to a saiyan warrior?

And with every punch he threw into the thick air around him, and with every blast of ki he shot into the intense gravity; his frustration grew as he saw images of _her_ in his mind's eye.

It felt like he physically needed her and his need became so raw that he felt both violent and utterly lost – simultaneously. Just **what** was he to do with this?

He could hardly discern between the need to kill her for her presumptuousness and brash ways and the need to walk up to her – smirking – and claim her as his own. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

All he could do to keep the confusion at bay was train – keep training – and make his life hang in the balance in the process. Only mortal peril would be able to still his mind and stop the thoughts, images and mocking scenes from coming. There was no other way but to use brute force to **make** his mind focus solely on what was important; survival and breaking through limitations wrought upon him so he could finally overcome Kakarot. There was no other way but to use the same brute force that had disciplined his mind all his life.

And it would continue to do so now: he was prince of a proud, warrior race for a **reason**.

* * *

Bulma sat cross-legged on the purple armchair her mother had bought months ago to give the living room 'a cozy touch', trying to read a magazine while spring spread a pleasant warmth onto their property and Yamcha and Vegeta trained.

Giving it up, she sighed demonstratively while supporting her right cheek with her hand; as if the strain of thinking alone was too much of a weight for her head to carry.

"Everyone else is working so hard to get ready for those androids while I'm sitting around the house doing nothing. I wish there was _something_ I could do," the heiress thought out-loud.

Almost as if on cue, the cheery figure of her mother entered the living room.

"Bulma! I stopped by the bakery today and look what I bought for us! Nice, huh? Don't these look scrumptious!" her mother laughed extravagantly. "Now, which one do you want?"

Ugh… did her mother **always** have to assume she would take something sweet of the platter without consideration if she just had the smarts to wave it in front of her face? What was it with her mom and solving problems with food, anyway?

"They're all yours mom, I'm not very hungry," the heiress huffed tiredly as she leisurely put both her hands behind her head and allowed herself to sink into the cushion.

"What? But Bulma what's wrong with you? Are you feeling lonely because all the boys are spending all their time training and not spending time with you? That's it, isn't it, dear?"

"Oh puh-lease! I'm just not very hungry!" she reiterated angrily, making fists.

But before the argument could get out of hand Dr. Briefs walked into the living room, stretching sleepily after what must've been a night of hard work, a cigarette dangling characteristically from the corner of his mouth.

"You know, I'm starting to think Vegeta is a few cards short of a full deck," he started conversationally.

He didn't notice his daughter immediately looking up in worry – nullifying the relaxing effect of sinking deep into the soft, purple cushion – and continued. "It wasn't enough to have the simulator create three hundred times gravity for him. Now he's demanding that I make some more equipment for him to train with. And all he's going to do is break it."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me at all," the aqua-haired genius responded, putting something resembling indifference into her voice as if to save her composure.

"Well, I think it's great he works so hard," Bunny voiced with an adamant sweetness only she seemed able to produce.

"Oh, sure he's training hard, but don't you think he's overdoing it a bit?" her husband asked with evident surprise as he leaned in.

"Oh, no, I think it's very admirable," she replied while taking her cup of tea off of the coffee table and into her hands.

"In _my_ day a man that showed **that** much dedication to _anything_ was definitely husband-material. A girl would have to be **crazy** to let him get away I tell you."

After casually taking a sip of her tea, she seemed to realize that both husband as daughter were looking at her questioningly, implying that her last remark was off somehow.

"Oh my, what am I saying! I'm a married woman!" she exclaimed, responding to their inquiring looks while she hid her mouth with her left hand; and she left the absent-minded scientist and the aqua-haired vixen to blink at her blankly.

Both ended up shrugging. It wasn't as if they weren't used to things like this…

The lavender-haired scientist sat down with his wife and joined her in drinking a cup of tea for a change, and the quiet, peaceful mood caused their daughter to sink back into the purple cushion and ponder on the events the day had given her so far.

For starters, Yamcha had deemed it necessary to decline and ask her to leave him to his training when she'd gone to give him one of these energy-replenishing muesli-bars they had lying around the house. Her mother just loved to buy them for some reason and she thought she'd seen the woman encourage Vegeta to take one a couple of times. She doubted that her mom had gotten more than an indecent snarl as a response, though.

But she honestly didn't know what was up with the guy lately. Of course he was busy training, and he had to train – but she was just trying to be supportive like she thought he wanted her to be, and all of a sudden, he was shying away instead of leaping up like a happy dog that's being paid attention to, like he usually would have.

That analogy was beyond wrong, but it was just the way she'd always perceived Yamcha to act. If it wasn't for her having woken up after having endured dreams composing of the threat the androids would pose to their world – she would've practically blown his head off just by making a scathing remark about how he didn't know what he wanted. And by now, she'd pretty much started to doubt if that wasn't a good row to start to begin with.

And then there was her mother… _Why_ did she have to go on about Vegeta being a good catch somehow? How much did the woman even suspect about the fantasies she'd been cherishing in regards to their alien house-guest? She couldn't possibly know, could she? Besides, they were just fantasies… it wasn't as if they had anything real or sincere to them.

Without realizing she was proving her mother to be right while she did it, she absent-mindedly took a cupcake from the platter on the coffee-table to console her on the miserable trail her thoughts seemed to be laying out for her. Why did she have to ponder that arrogant saiyan being a good catch? It was nonsensical! She'd never met anyone so rude!

But her mom was right when she said his determination was beyond normal… and she knew better than anyone else around her that there wasn't **just** the rudeness. But what the hell would she do with a man who was _and_ torn apart by a past he would not speak of, _and_ practically sociopathic in his dealings with other humans?

Whenever she spoke about him to others it was his arrogance and the impossibility of his conduct she spoke of; whenever she thought about him it was the secret care and the physical attraction that ruled. But the notion of being with him was plain insanity. A thought like that crossing her mind was outright unhealthy. It would be like voluntarily going on a rollercoaster you _know_ is going to derail, and stepping on it anyway. Then again; that sounded just like her.

Freaked out, she finally went to take her first bite when an explosion made the whole house shake on its foundations; causing the cupcakes of both the heiress as that of her mother to almost be smeared onto their faces. It took the heiress only a couple of seconds to realize what was going on. The gravity room! Her heart racing, she put the cake away and ran outside.

* * *

"Vegeta!"

Anguish, worry, fear, concern – all of them were present as Bulma screamed out to the rubble that was all that was left of capsule 3. Yamcha automatically followed in her wake, pausing just a little behind her when they'd reached the debris.

"I knew this would happen. He's been trying to do the impossible!" he judged harshly; fueled by his shock at the sudden explosion, his own dreadful experience with the punishing gravity, his last resistance to losing an invisible battle through trying to make his girlfriend see reality and a 'manly' masking of the fear he genuinely felt when thinking of a possible, disastrous end to the proud saiyan. However he might feel about him; he just _had_ to be alive. Things were sure to start breaking apart if he wasn't. He'd seen enough to acknowledge that.

"Where is he? Vegeta?"

Yamcha felt her voice had never sounded so small, so sad, so scared. He clenched his fists and remained to stand where he stood, watching her go through the scraps of concrete and metal with an ever-increasing desperation that made his heart wrench.

The heiress screamed and jumped backwards – falling straight against her human boyfriend who broke her fall as they both landed on the concrete of the pavement – and both sat up again as the prince's hand that had come out from underneath the rubble was followed by the rest of his body.

"You, okay?" she asked, shivering with badly concealed emotion.

"Of course I am!"

And to prove his statement, the saiyan warrior showed her he could stand. Relief hit, but was just as quick to give the heiress newfound space for other emotions than fear and worry.

"How dare you, you dweeb! You almost wrecked my house! What are you trying to prove?" she reprimanded him; her blue eyes fiery.

Vegeta laughed as if both challenging and ridiculing her, but soon his knees buckled and he fell down, backwards – unceremoniously back into the rubble.

"Wha'? Oh no! Oy! You're hurt!"

And Bulma ran towards him as Yamcha remained to sit and watch the scene in silence. She lifted his chest and took him into her arms as she sank onto her knees next to him; her left arm around his neck, supporting his shoulder, her right on his bare chest that was now stained by not only scars, but by tons of bruises to keep them company.

"Go. I don't need help. I've got training to do," the saiyan tried to protest as he lay there, helpless, in her embrace. His voice did nothing but betray his weakness; it sounded more strained than ever and it was obvious that using it drained him.

"You've got to stop training for a while. I mean look at you, you're a completely wreck!" the heiress reasoned, moving her face a little closer to his to emphasize her point.

"But I feel fine. I'm a saiyan. I can take a little pain, it means nothing to me. And I have to get stronger than Kakarot!" Vegeta spoke – his left eye kept slightly open, a trail of blood seeping from underneath his black hair on the right side of his forehead.

"Okay sure, we all know you're a tough guy, but you need to rest now," she tried to soothe the wounded his resolve; to compromise…

But her gentle voice proved too much for the warrior to take.

"I take orders from no-one!"

He attempted to stand up, making her let go in the process, but it was to no avail. He'd hardly put pressure on his feet when the strain began to take too much toll on his body – and with a groan he faltered and fell down again; plummeting deep into unconsciousness.

Bulma took his unconscious form in her arms again, but she had not the strength to support both her own weight and that of Vegeta, and she looked around for help until she finally noticed the scar-faced fighter still there, standing – a shocked expression on his face.

She neglected to meet his eyes when she asked him to help her move him. He nodded without a word.

* * *

"Is he going to be all right, daddy?"

"I hope so. The only thing he hasn't bruised is his eyebrows. If he stays in bed for a week or so, he should be all right. He's dodged the bullet again; it's a miracle he survived such a horrible accident. Those saiyans are practically indestructible."

Bulma's eyes were still twitching with emotion while she watched him lie there; helplessly in bed, covered by white sheets, bandages all over him – over his proud, black, saiyan hair, too – oxygen tanks behind his head-end and a breathing-mask on his face to emphasize his so uncharacteristic vulnerability and dependence on others.

Apparently her mother seemed to find the same devastating feel by just the sight of the man as she was sniffing pitifully.

"Poor Vegeta!" she exclaimed. And more tears came as she kept her handkerchief carefully below her eyes.

"C'mon dear, let's let him rest," her husband guided her out of the room.

It would probably be best if she left too, but she just felt _horrible_ leaving him there… With a sigh she bent down and placed a light kiss on his breathing-mask.

'You lump-head…'

But she let that woeful thought slide and strengthened herself, turning to leave when –

"Kakarot… I'll get stronger… Kakarot! I'll beat you!"

Oh no… he was having a bad dream.

Without consciously deciding to do so, she sat down at the desk next to his bed. She would keep watch over the man taken down by his own calamitous training regime… a regime that he seemed to have specifically invented to hurt himself.

* * *

Blackness, clouds, spider-webs, vapors… Running… And there he was; smiling mockingly…

"Kakarot! I'm stronger than you!"

Vegeta was wearing the old armor he'd taken from Frieza's spaceship when on Namek, but it was somehow completely untarnished.

He charged and attempted to throw a kick at the low-class saiyan, but as soon as he thought he had hit his mark, the other saiyan had already vanished.

Blackness engulfed him… He was sweating… And then he came; as sudden as he'd done the first time. And once again without a decent explanation to accompany his existence…

"It's you! You're not… a saiyan!"

He charged and attempted to punch the boy with his left arm, but history repeated itself.

The foreboding sense of danger still overpowered him; all his senses were working over-time; and still it came with a startle when both suddenly appeared in front of him. He backed down in fear before he could refrain from doing so. They were in charge; he could not dictate the course of this battle. Tactics meant nothing. And it meant less and less and they both transformed into super saiyans; powering up even more while doing so.

"I am the strongest!" he yelled.

But their energy alone was enough to push him backwards while he fought with all his might to do nothing but simply remain to stand on his own two feet.

He powered up himself; but it was useless. He tried to pursue them; but to no avail. They became a taunting light in the distance as his world broke down to blackness.

"They're too fast… I'll never be able to catch up with them!" he concluded; agonized more wholly than he'd ever felt. "But _**I**_, **I'm** the one with royal blood in my veins! Father!" he screamed for his old man helplessly as he was slowly but certainly drowning in this blackness that had surrounded him; oxygen leaving him in bubbles.

"Vegeta, someday you will be the strongest saiyan in the universe," a familiar voice echoed.

"Father?"

A vision opened itself; as if a flashback presented itself to him on a screen in the sky; as if a wormhole had torn open the vacuum that distanced this long-lost past from him.

"Those ships are headed to distant galaxies. From the day we are born we saiyans are examined for our power and leadership. The weakest of our people are sent to planets far away, where they face no threat from our enemies," he saw his father speak to himself; himself as a child; the tail slightly visible from underneath his red cape.

"Hm. Goodbye, pests!" he saw and heard himself cockily speak; the rasp in his voice he'd had in childhood there as if it had never left him.

"Vegeta. You come from a strong bloodline and you possess the potential power to join the super-elite of all saiyans. Never forget where you're from and train very hard, my son. Because; if you've proven yourself worthy perhaps **you** will become a super saiyan."

His father had encouraged him. And suddenly it felt like everything was clearer and lighter; his destiny unfolding itself before his eyes.

'I haven't forgotten what you said, father,' he spoke to the saiyan king in mind alone. 'I haven't forgotten my destiny. And now I know that I **will** be stronger than Kakarot. I **am** a super saiyan!' his train of thought concluded itself.

He remembered succumbing to the insane laughter that had marked his years in Frieza's military service when he awoke with a shock; the breathing mask falling off as he sat up in a flash; shaken by the intensity of his dream. His head fell back into the pillow. He breathed his relief, and then turned to take in his surroundings. When he looked to his right he uncovered something most surprising next to him. The woman was asleep with her head on the desk.

'What is _she_ doing here?'

The thought was left unspoken.

* * *

Vegeta was sleeping calmly when she woke up, but she noticed his breathing-mask had been displaced. Had he put it off in his sleep?

She supposed that she didn't _need_ to put it back on if he did fine breathing on his own, now; but was it really wise to allow his body to use the energy to keep his breathing-mechanism going while that energy could also be put to use to heal his many injuries?

Just when Bulma'd been finishing with the breathing-mask Yamcha entered; his girlfriend bowing over the unconscious man the first vision his eyes gave him.

"Hey."

He was trying very hard to sound casual, but somehow; that had sounded strained.

"Oh, hey. I was just adjusting the breathing-mask. He could use the oxygen," she smiled, slightly apprehensive when meeting her boyfriend's eyes for the first time that day.

"You've been here ever since the accident. I had dinner by myself. Well – with your parents by myself. Is this how it's going to be from now on? Don't get me wrong, I can understand you're worried and all, and that you want him better… but aren't you taking it too far? You can't do much for him. It's not as if you _have_ to play nurse, do you?"

The look he gave her seemed to Bulma as if he actually suspected Vegeta to have already woken up and threatened her to fend for him just like he'd always demand technical repairs and food; something she was **not** going to take, inadvertent suggestion or not!

"I know very well I don't have to, Yamcha. This may surprise you – but I can make decisions on my own."

The scar-faced fighter literally took a step back; startled. She couldn't be serious!

"I don't recall ever having said you couldn't. I'd just hoped to get to see you now I'm here, living on your father's compound; but I see that hope is idle since you plan on spending all your time doting on **him**."

"I'm not planning anything! It's you who's planning things! You seemed to find my attentions completely uncalled for today."

"_That_ is what's uncalled for, Bulma. I was distracted and focused on my training; and that for the first time in a period of **weeks**. You know as well as I do that I've been looking you up constantly. It seems to be coming from my end a lot, but I don't mind – but what I do mind is that you're consciously deciding to spend the time you have nursing the likes of him back to health right now. You do remember that he killed me, don't you?"

A lot of the things she heard Yamcha say hit home, and she'd started to think up an actual apologetic response when he'd decided to go and utter that last sentence. The door closed.

"Killed you, Yamcha? **Killed** you? From where I was sitting and watching it was pretty damned clear that you were boasting like usual. And I heard enough afterwards, too. Saying and thinking you could take on all these saibamen by yourself, while you had not the slightest _clue_ what you were getting yourself into – **thoughtless**, like you always are.

If there was anyone or anything that killed you; it was you and your ill-informed self-confidence in battle, and definitely not Vegeta. I'm sick of you brushing it up until it seems like something of a heroic death you could use as a leverage to gain my sympathy and make a scapegoat out of someone you dislike simultaneously."

"_Dislike_? Come off it, Bulma – you know as well as I do that this is not about dislike. This is about what this guy _is_, or has been – it's about what he means to me, to Tien, to Chaozu…"

"No Yamcha. If the circumstances were different, I'd probably perceive that as something to dwell on myself. But I've come to know Vegeta one hell of a lot better than you have, and that's not even the point, or what this is about – this is about us **needing** Vegeta if we are to make a stand against the androids. If we are to live longer than just three, remaining years."

"Goku will –"

"No he **won't**, Yamcha. That kid that came to warn us was a super saiyan – we don't know how that can be possible, but he was a good kid and he _was_. He was a trained super saiyan; we know Frieza was more powerful than when Goku fought him on Namek and that Goku had more trouble beating him back then. Yet that kid beat him in a flash. And the androids were _still_ too much for him. The thing is – if Vegeta wouldn't be training his ass off for all our sakes right now – yes, for you too, Yamcha, not because he specifically cares but because you're there, like all of us are – none of us are going to survive in three years. Goku is not going to be able to pull it off on his own this time around. He needs another super saiyan – and I intend to ensure Vegeta becomes one.

It's Goku and Vegeta who will be making the difference with their beyond-human powers; all of you matter in this battle, but without them – and I mean **both** of them – we're history. We are, Yamcha. I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it true."

He swallowed and backed away.

"I guess you can't be clearer than that. For what it's worth; I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Bulma replied. Almost out of habit. She wondered what the hell had passed between them as she saw the orange that was Yamcha leave, but in the end, she turned back to the desk – returning to her watch over Vegeta. Like he had somehow known she would.

* * *

"Initiating gravity simulation. Four hundred times planet's normal gravity. Warning: simulation exceeds human biological tolerance levels."

Vegeta was pleased. It seemed the scientist had still made the changes that allowed the simulator to take the levels of gravity even further. He knew his reasons were pure that of a hobbyist – he just couldn't resist giving such a challenge a try – but he was still pleased that there were still humans on this compound less – well, less human.

If the woman had known her father to be making these adjustments – why, she had the audacity to never allow it in the light of his recent 'injuries'.

Yamcha watched as the saiyan prince did push-ups on his left hand as if mocking the gravity that pressed on him. It was as if, all of a sudden, he just stopped worrying. Everything was fine this way, really – he truly felt it was. He had made his peace with where things were bound to lead. He'd go on a training journey; make sure he could do what he must.

"Puar, it's time for us to get back to work!"

Meanwhile, Vegeta turned his regular push-ups to push-ups while standing upside-down on his left hand, to using his ki to float while withstanding gravity and circle with his body rigid to get used to the pressure.

Blood to his head, blood to his feet, blood to his head, blood to his feet… The rhythm was as monotonous and therefore soothing as it could've been when, of course, (how could it not have happened; she was determined to always be obnoxious beyond belief) –

"Stop it, Vegeta! You are in no condition to be doing this right now! I know you don't want to believe it but you **are** made of flesh and blood!" she lectured angrily; her face appearing on a screen on the steel wall of the gravity room that hadn't been visible before. Vegeta didn't flinch and continued on with the rhythm he'd chosen – as if he'd been expecting her.

"Stop pestering me, woman! Leave me alone!"

But the energy it cost him to retaliate to her seemed to be too much to maintain the intricate balancing of ki he needed to stay within the rhythm he'd set for the practice, and he fell down to the floor in anguish; proving the point she'd made to begin with.

"You **know** I'm right, so why don't you just keep quiet, and do as I say?" she demanded angrily through the screen.

When he kept quiet, her own cockiness started overruling her fury; and her voice calmed as she started smiling the smile of one who's just won a battle.

"Nothing to say? Well that's good. Now go back to bed, and get some rest."

"Not yet. I do have something to say," he suddenly spoke – his fists clenched, but still very much lying down on the gravity room floor and looking up to meet the screen through which she looked at him.

Bulma was taken aback as he knew she would've been. He completely caught her off-guard by uttering something so much resembling… civility.

But the worry that struck was quick to be replaced by another haughty sense of victory, as a concerned question of 'something being wrong' transformed itself into a cocky confidence that the saiyan would perhaps have finally found the insight needed to see he owed her an apology. Her grin couldn't have been bigger when she expressed she'd be glad to hear it.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

That was what he'd had to say. Just that. Somehow that hurt more than bursting her bubble of confidence usually would have, and she left the screen crestfallen. She'd leave him to his training. For now. But he'd better not expect to have seen the last of her.


	6. Choices

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

* * *

Chapter 5: Choices

"I've told you before and I'm telling you now for one last time, woman; I don't care."

"Fine. You just go ahead and destroy yourself, then!"

He left without a word or look back. If she had the intelligence she claimed to have, she'd know very well he was neither planning nor going to. Unlike some, he actually knew what he was doing. Illogical, erratic creature… Figure it out yourself.

He just wanted to get away from her. How she kept on wearing revealing clothing in this hot weather was annoying him to no end and he kept feeling like she was provoking him on purpose; vying for his attentions even when he managed to avoid her for days on end. And so what if he hadn't fully recovered from his gravity room accident? He was fit enough to train and since she claimed she wanted to live, she shouldn't be the one complaining.

Besides, he knew just as well as she did that her threat was empty. If he overdid it and came near to destroying his body, she would nurse him back to health like her **own** life hang in the balance instead of his. She wouldn't be able to let him die. And even though he couldn't comprehend whatever emotional state rendered that otherwise so powerful woman unable to keep from lending a mass-murderer a hand; he didn't mind taking advantage of it. Not in the present situation, where all that mattered was survival.

A saiyan's power level increased tremendously after recovering from a near-fatal injury. In the end, his powers would come to benefit her as well. And whatever she said and whatever she tried to convince him of in her fury; he suspected she knew that very well.

No. She shouldn't be the one complaining. She didn't want to die in three years and depended on him to be sure of that. No, she shouldn't be moping and whining. She shouldn't at all.

* * *

Fuck. Why was that man so stubborn? He'd been giving her the cold treatment for two weeks now, mostly choosing to just ignore her or telling her to 'stop making a fuss' and leave him be when she finally caught sight of him. He just didn't take it seriously that he _could_ hurt his body **beyond** repair, leaving her no way of fixing him up. Threatening to leave him be had simply been a translation of her own anxiety.

But he'd been plain with her. He didn't **care**. He didn't _need her_. And then that same fatalistic, depressing sentiment he always ended up expressing: if he ended up dying he was not fit to be a warrior anyway.

Why did he have to be like that? He would be no use to anyone dead!

The beautiful genius who was heiress to Capsule Corporation turned on her heels and went to her bedroom; annoyed, agitated, angry… and behind that powerful surface she was so used to employing; actually quite distraught. But still, she was fuming. She was fuming as she threw the research books and tabloids that had lain on her desk off of it in one swipe, fuming as she kicked the frame of her bed, fuming as she threw her cushion against her closet…

But that did it. Enough was enough. Bulma Briefs did not do fits, tantrums or pity-parties. Well maybe she did, when it somehow gave her an advantage… but she was strong and it was no use allowing herself to be taken over by something she couldn't even quite fathom. There wasn't even a proper reason to feel as strongly about this as she did. There just wasn't.

And so she walked towards her lavender cushion, threw it back onto her bed, and turned to the closet she'd thrown it at. It was time for an outfit-change. She'd redo her style for today, turn it around completely. And while doing so, she was sure to uncover what was going on inside of her and what action she should take. She smiled. It always worked like that.

* * *

"Are you sure about competing in the league, Yamcha?" the floating feline questioned her friend and companion cautiously.

"I have to, Puar. I know I have to train to get ready for the androids and all, but it's no use if we can't pay rent, is it? I'm not like Goku; I can't just go live in the wild for an extended period of time. I can't afford to lose my apartment and I have to stock up on a massive amount of food if we want to be traveling for a month to train before we return each time; and it wouldn't hurt to have the house cleaned when we're gone. That costs money, Puar; nothing's for free in this world and our stealing days are over, remember?"

"Since Bulma, yes – she made sure of that when you two got together. How are things with you two Yamcha, you still haven't told me – are you fighting again?" she asked squeakily.

But the scar-faced fighter gave a non-committal shrug with his head and smiled grimly.

"Let's just go play some baseball, Puar."

The feline nodded and floated along.

* * *

"I guess you can't be clearer than that. For what it's worth; I'm sorry."

In her mind's eye, she kept seeing Yamcha's face as he'd spoken those words. She hadn't seen him since. His face had been a mask of disappointment, spite, bitterness… yet when she looked back on these last weeks, she came to realize that this was actually the first time she paid thought to what had occurred between them on that day of the gravity room incident. It just hadn't crossed her mind – it hadn't at all. She had been busy with…

Her mind froze as she tried to complete that sentence. Actually, the only thing that had been keeping her busy had been… She swallowed. Was that the honest truth? Yet she could no longer deny it. Her days revolved around her saiyan house-guest and around nothing and no-one else. Even when she did something scientific it related to him and him alone.

She bit her nails anxiously – an uncanny habit she couldn't kick. Then she sighed and went upstairs, walked into the first bathroom she came across, and faced herself in the mirror once again.

"What do you even feel for Yamcha now, Bulma? Be honest with yourself."

Hearing her voice reverberate against the sterile bathroom-tiles was unnerving but soothing at the same time. Sometimes confronting yourself like this was the only way out of a predicament that was troubling your mind. The only way to rid yourself of the blinders that were pleasant to wear throughout the day. The only way to be clear and straightforward.

"C'mon Bulma… What **do** you feel?"

She bit her lower lip as she met her own fierce gaze, the beautiful blue orbs she was accustomed to, and tried to see beyond the beauty to what drove her on below it. It was clear enough in seconds – just moments later, she would even wonder if it hadn't always been clear. Friendship and even a mild annoyance when she felt Yamcha was claiming her, while her thoughts always lingered on Vegeta nowadays.

Truth be told – even when the saiyan hadn't been in the picture yet she hadn't cherished the same devotion the once desert-bandit had upheld on his part. Of course he'd been distracted, looked at other girls – but she'd actually looked at other guys herself – making more than one awkward comment about how hot or 'cute' she'd thought them. And whether it was a fleeting infatuation or not – ever since the prince lived here, her eyes hadn't lingered on a single male she'd come across. No single person but the saiyan alone.

Just that was actually the most abnormal thing she'd ever experienced. It meant her reasoning had been faulty when she'd convinced herself that her attraction to other males while going out with Yamcha was a simple matter of hormones – a completely natural, human issue that implied nothing. Technically, he just hadn't been enough for her. Not good enough.

Surprisingly enough, she sniggered as a newfound excitement started building in her stomach.

"Seems like you've thrown my theory out of the window, Vegeta."

* * *

Kakarot had gone super saiyan again. He could feel it. It was an insult to his elite heritage, a taunt to his shackled mind, a reminder to his withheld body… It was what he ought to have become on Namek, what he ought to have used to crush the one who'd taken the saiyan empire he ought to have had… These golden flames belonged to royalty and to royalty alone; the gods were mocking him once again by letting a low-class commoner have it.

It was a physical pain that blocked out every distraction that had settled itself into his brain due to his stay around these humans. As he kicked and punched and flew through the thick oppression around him memories came at him like thorns, maddening his movements in the gravity he'd increased to four-hundred-and-fifty that of earth's. Breaking collarbones, spines, ripping intestines out of bodies, holding still beating hearts; a rush of adrenaline, an indescribable thrill, a sense of power, superiority, enjoyment…

Fear… The smell of fear: fear of his persona, fear of his grin, fear of his unpredictability, fear of his ruthlessness. Fear of the mad crown prince who'd been practically adopted by the sadistically scheming tyrant who held most of the universe in his grasp.

Yet still… Yet still… In spite what he had been made to do, had started to enjoy doing, had done, had become… In spite of his devotion, his training, his patient biding his time… In spite of the strength he'd gained, in spite of how much he'd willed himself to plough on, always willed himself, not allowing himself a moment's pause… It had been **given** to that earth-raised idiot, **given**. What work had he done for it? What dreams had he cherished? What desperation had he felt? How far had he gone for it? It had just **come** to him, just like that…

The injustice incensed him beyond words, beyond belief, beyond description; and as he ploughed on, the saiyan prince no longer felt the gravity, no longer felt the warning signals his strained body was giving him, no longer felt the hours pass, no longer detected it when the gravity increased by ten each hour faithfully… Just as he'd programmed it to.

* * *

"It's all taken care of, sir," the old company-owner in his brown tuxedo told the young, black-haired man standing in front of him. "Your apartment will be tended to in your absence, a mobile home with plenty of nourishment is at your disposal with this hoi poi capsule, and with the check you've just given me everything has been covered for. For a complete year even. If you just sign here –" and the man handed Yamcha a contract on a chic, thick, handmade paper, "you'll be free to claim a restocked mobile home each month."

Yamcha signed with a quick scrawl and handed the contract back to the manager in front of him, knowing Puar had been signified as a 'pet' by the porter at the entrance to the institution's building and was waiting for him outside. It would be best if he'd be back as swift as he could now he'd arranged the business he wanted taken care of.

He was well aware of losing Bulma and he just wanted to train and forget everything now – maybe she'd see reason after having to miss him for months on end, and maybe she'd get it on with Vegeta and come running back to him after the androids had been destroyed. Either way it didn't matter. Not anymore.

After receiving the copy to his contract and his first hoi poi capsule, the young man practically **ran** from the senior manager's officer. The old man shook his head. These youngsters nowadays… always agitated and in a rush.

"Well, I guess we're off for a last day and night of chilling back at home, Puar. We'll set out at the break of dawn tomorrow."

"Sounds exciting!" the feline happily commented as she faithfully floated after him.

What neither of them had expected, however, came when the martial artist unknowingly opened the apartment's door. There was already someone inside.

"Ah good, I was getting worried you'd never get back! We need to talk, Yamcha."

"Bulma? How -? What are you doing here?"

The blue-haired vixen angrily put her hands on her hips.

"Didn't I just tell you what I'm doing here a second ago? We – need – to – talk. Or maybe –" she looked down, almost shyly, and her voice softened. "Or maybe **I** do." But when she looked up at her boyfriend again, there was no doubt or softness visible in her features. She was going to say something, and she was determined to get it over with.

"Uh, well, okay. But how'd you get in?"

He visibly shrank as she gave an exasperated sigh.

"Remember when you gave me your key?"

"Oh, yes, of course –" he suddenly vaguely remembered an instant long ago, when his girlfriend had been lecturing him about what a boyfriend should and shouldn't do and he'd just wanted to get out of the discussion. "What is it you need to talk about, anyway?"

"I want to officially end things between us. Indefinitely this time."

She cringed as she heard the words blurt out of her mouth. That had not sounded good at all; in fact, it had sounded rather insensitive. And **now** the thought dawned on her that it might have been a good idea to ask Yamcha to sit down first.

When she dared to look up at him again, however, she noted he didn't look as surprised as she expected him to look. He looked stern, brooding, stiff; but definitely not caught off-guard.

"Guess I should've seen that coming. Just tell me one thing. Is it because you like Vegeta?"

Now it was her turn to look taken aback and even… slightly angry, no matter how unjustly.

"You must've noticed it yourself as well. We just… get along better as friends. Ever since we've been dating we've had this on-again off-again relationship, and over the years, it just stopped working. Besides, we've grown apart. Namek changed me when you were busy being dead. I may not look it but I'm not the same person that I was any more, and with these androids on their way to destroy all of us… I guess I just want to stop fooling around."

"First of all, you know why I was 'busy' being dead and back in those days, I was told it upset you a lot more than it does now. But fooling around?" Yamcha spat, angry disbelief in every line of his face. "So that's what we've been doing all this time? So let me get this straight – while I've been spending my time on you in the hopes that you would one day finally be ready to commit and start a family – you've actually never taken what we had **seriously**?"

"Well hey! **I** was the one ensuring **you'd** become ready to make a commitment at first, y'know!"

"Yes, as a fucking project to help me overcome my fear of girls!"

"A project that worked out a little **too** well, I might add."

"That's taking it too far, Bulma."

Capsule Corp's heiress looked down on her fashionably torn jeans, her faded lavender top with its chic, unique buttons, her silver bracelet, and sighed. He was right. She had to end things with him here and now, but there was no reason to hurt him more than she could avoid.

"I'm sorry, Yamcha. I just didn't come to realize how I felt about you until now; didn't come to realize that this is why I've been avoiding settling down with you… Hell, I guess I didn't even realize I **was** avoiding it," she smiled grimly.

The scar-faced warrior's shoulders sagged as he saw the truth in her eyes and Puar was still floating above his shoulder, carrying a helpless, uncomfortable expression.

"Let's just end it, then. I have to train anyway. But, Bulma… will you do one thing for me?"

"Anything."

"Answer my first question. Maybe it's not the reason for you breaking up with me right now, but still; I've seen how you look at the guy. Do you like him or not?"

"That's neither here nor there."

And before he could stop her she'd walked right out of the door to his apartment.

* * *

Bulma felt horrible as she landed her jet-copter back on her father's compound. Even though there had been hardly any yelling, she felt she had no reason to applaud herself on how that break-up had gone. But done was done; it was no use dwelling on it.

Yet dwelling was exactly what she had been doing these past hours. She'd flown around endlessly, watching the sky around her darken as she wallowed in long-lost memories of what they'd had together. She'd repeated 'the break-up sequence', as she'd now started referring to it, multiple times; even going as far as to make alterations – trying to puzzle what she ought to have done or said to make it better. It was useless. And it had taken her more than four hours of senseless flying around – wasting precious fuel – to come to terms with that.

At the same time – especially in her last hour of senseless flying around – she had also started to entertain more thoughts regarding Vegeta. Why not, actually?

Sure, he was an ass – but hadn't she already proven to be able to get through to him when no-one else was able to? And hadn't she already been close enough to him to see sides she was sure no-one else had ever seen of him? It was like part of her mind had started to take on a project – a fun challenge – like Yamcha had been at first when he'd still feared girls as much.

That's what had kept her flying that past hour; that's what had worried her. Yet, at the same time… **Vegeta**, a project? Well hell, she _had_ decided she wanted him. And she was used to getting what she wanted. But he was an unpredictable guy and all in all… She'd actually uncovered she couldn't explain. She cared about his welfare more than would be considered normal; Yamcha had been right there… and she was intrigued by the workings of his mind and by his past, as well. He'd been so close to her at times; in a way she'd never experienced with the scar-faced fighter. At the same time she could hate him with such a passion that it pained her as much as when she felt she saw him hurt. It just didn't make sense but eventually she came to the conclusion that it was best to stop caring about the lack of logic she seemed to possess on this whole relationship thing. Her women's intuition should do the trick.

* * *

Everything had started to mingle. Past; present; future… It was as if it could all exist in the fume exhaled by a single breath. His eyes were closed tight shut. Discerning his surroundings didn't matter anymore. He went on the sight of his ki and the instinct of his body alone; exactly the two things that were supposed to tip the scales in battle. The pressure of the gravity had almost become comforting; a constant strain reminding him of the limits he was trespassing to ensure he'd overcome Kakarot.

Until his own blast collided with his stomach like a crushing, steamrolling punch; the saiyan prince had actually been enjoying the training in a pleasant daze.

* * *

'It would've actually been nice if my parents had been around to provide some distraction,' the heiress mumbled in agitation as she finally set foot in their garden after decapsulizing her jet-copter. On second thought… scratch that. With her parents out… She grinned mischievously. Yup, with her parents out it might just be the perfect opportunity to lure the saiyan prince out of his comfort zone and see how far she could go if she just kept on pushing his buttons. Kami knew she was good at it; it would be a fun experiment indeed.

Later on that night; it would be the sound of her own footsteps onto the concrete tiles and the sudden change in mood that would remain to haunt her the most.

First thing she noticed once she rounded the corner was how the gravity room had been shut down. She wasn't completely sure but she _thought_ it was still before midnight; at least by a bit. She'd just started to ponder the probability of Vegeta having just gone to bed when she saw a shape just ten yards away from her, lying on the same tile pathway she was standing on.

The shape was lengthy; part of it lay on the grass. It was dark and she couldn't see properly, and she vaguely wondered if her dad had left any of his inventions lying around as she drew closer. Some kind of oil seemed to be leaking from it too. It was lying in a puddle of oil.

A blood-curdling scream pierced what had been a quiet night in West City. The shape didn't move. Vegeta seemed to be done registering his surroundings for now.

"Wake up, wake up," she pleaded desperately as she shook him.

It felt like he was burning up with a fever, and he seemed to have trouble breathing. Yet there was no doubt about him still being alive. If she could only wake him…

Black orbs opened and closed again. He tried to get up. Hurled. Blood again. He was coughing. It was the most disgusting most worrisome most unnerving thing she'd ever seen. Every plan to push his buttons and to somehow 'get' him lay forgotten in a far-away corner of her mind as what had never happened when it had been Yamcha happened again: a heart-wrenching pain that convinced her she'd want to die with Vegeta if she couldn't save him.

* * *

"He's suffered internal damage. There is no way for us to repair this with surgery; his only hope is that the drugs we're giving him will have effect. Other than that; it's his body that will have to do the trick. Best let the machines watch him for now."

Capsule Corp's heiress nodded timidly; looking rather pale. Her eyeliner had faded and she was pretty sure her mascara wasn't doing so well, either.

"Thanks, doctor. I'll take it from here."

Like always, she'd managed to get Vegeta into one of the specially-prepared infirmaries her father had always insisted on building into their multi-functional home and company. Maybe he'd been gifted with a strange bout of foresight on the warriors her daughter would end up introducing to their riches.

Being friends with Goku and even housing Z-fighters from time to time, serving as a meet-up spot… That did make infirmaries quite necessary.

Although it was hard to imagine anyone foreseeing that one of the two saiyans that had been to come and sell earth in one year's time would actually end up living here. The one who'd brought Goku into such a state back then as well; practically squeezing the life out of him. Oh sweet irony… Yet her heart did nothing but rend as she watched his unconscious form.

When she'd fallen asleep after what felt like hours of a faithful watch, she was awoken by a harsh, raspy voice that didn't exactly remind her of prince charming.

"Weren't you supposed to leave me be if I'd do this?"

An angry retort swelled up on the inside of her throat, but it backed down again as she saw the glance he gave her.

"The only reason I said I'd leave you be is because I want you to live."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do explain."

"I hoped a good ol' threat would actually do the trick and ensure you'd be more careful, but being the thick-headed monkey you are; of course it didn't," she huffed.

She paused as she eyed him fiercely with pools of aqua. He waited.

"All I'm trying to make clear is: you can't depend on me to repair you each time you pull things like this. Even now, Vegeta, even right now; you're lethally injured and I can't promise you you'll make it through. You can't leave it all to chance."

She couldn't believe the bastard's insensitivity as he silently sniggered while her eyes were welling with tears – it was just… She bit her lip. How could she have even considered going after this guy? Was she just addicted to bad news?

"Aren't you supposed to be too brilliant not to find a way to fix me up, woman?"

He grinned up at her; filled with glee and expectation. The blue-haired beauty just blinked a couple of times; dumbstruck. Then, as the idea rooted itself in her mind, she actually burst out in victorious laughter herself.

"For once you're right. This whole notion of me not being able to keep you alive in spite of your own stupidity is ridiculous; I'm the greatest genius this world has ever known!"

Bulma heard her prince laugh as he plummeted into unconsciousness again. She wasn't concerned. She'd just concoct something.

It wasn't until another two hours had passed and she'd assured Vegeta was out of mortal peril for now that she realized something. The foreign prince had actually been bargaining with her, hadn't he? They'd made a wordless deal for these upcoming three years. She'd take care of his health and ensure quality-equipment; he'd become a super saiyan and… protect her.


	7. Over the Edge

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

**Author's Note:** Don't worry everyone - I haven't forsaken this story and I don't intend to, either. Just got a lot on my mind with studies and stuff - busier than I used to be. Hope you enjoy, please R/R!

* * *

Chapter 6: Over the Edge

_They were mocking him again. He'd just killed off a dozen alien children and was now sitting on the floor, waiting for their overlord's doctors to finish 'examining' his physique. He hated how he was obeying like a trained dog just so to keep his father alive; but their people needed a king and he was saiyan… he had to endure this like a true warrior. So he didn't flinch, didn't move; didn't even make a sound… The phials of blood taken from him stood piled up on a shelf and there were so many wires attached to him that it annoyed him. _

_He had been injected with many substances unknown to him already – watching the charts on his vitals and bone-structure change as if he was observing someone else's functions – completely detached from his own passive involvement in the experiment. Apparently they were testing his synapses because they wanted to see how come neurons passed on signals to other cells so much faster in a saiyan child than in a child of a different species, and especially in an elite saiyan child with such promise. Whether they wanted to improve upon the synthetic saiyan DNA the regeneration-tanks composed of the young Vegeta did not know; all he knew was that it annoyed him, but that he still had to bear it. What the five-year-old didn't realize, however, was that he'd been having an easy day so far. That he'd be screaming in mind and mind alone soon, for the peacefulness his day was still composing of now… _

"_He seems to be reacting badly to this hallucinogenic drug," a scientist noted. _

_Vegeta was clueless as to how much time had passed, but the statement had seemed to come out of nowhere – nothing in his memory could have incited it. _

"_Don't say that so coldly," a blue-skinned female purred. "The child just needs a mother."_

_Lying in the arms of a strange alien creature with a white robe… Being held by someone with eyes as sadistic and calculating as those of the other doctors… Hearing her silkily inquire about 'the scary things he was seeing'… A voice attempting to sound worried, consoling; it obviously thought he'd break and tell them what horrors he saw in response… Supplying them with ammunition against him, his father… Giving Frieza a reason to end things… And now… She had the guts… Stroking his cheek while whispering a saiyan lullaby only his mother had once sung to him, before she'd died… How had they -? He didn't know whether he was crying or screaming or both, or perhaps neither… But within seconds, he wriggled himself out of the embrace of a body – flesh still smoking – and incinerated the rest of the conspiring doctors where they stood. The broken phials of his own red blood mingled with the thick moisture the other creatures' remains cast off, and as the boy's mind kept racing with haunting images, he finally collapsed into the spaceship's hallway, right against the monster he dreaded most… The lizard smiled as he lifted the child up by his royal mane alone._

"_My my, this must've been quite interesting… I hope my cameras got all that," he chuckled._

"_Monkey-children make such a mess," a blue-skinned male said vainly._

Bulma's frown deepened. A blood-curdling scream escaped the normally so tough saiyan man as he suddenly bolted upright. His rapid heartbeat had been upsetting the machines for a while; it was how the aqua-haired genius had started to register the attacks. She didn't want to refer to them as nightmares; he'd shocked her too much in just the past twenty-four hours to speak of it like that. At times it was like a completely different Vegeta looked at her from these black orbs… like he didn't even recognize her.

He fell back onto the cushion and for a second, the genius thought sleep had claimed him again. Instead, he started convulsing.

_If only unconsciousness would claim him. The images he saw didn't frighten him; even as a five-year-old, he'd been taught not to fear a thing he could set eyes on. It's what the images were depriving him of that scared him. He was unable to set eyes on the images belonging to the tangible reality around him; unable to discern between just that and the other things he saw, smelt, felt… The voices of Frieza, Zarbon and Dodoria were faint and he was unable to anticipate the physical blows or counter the verbal attacks. There was no way for him to keep his composure, and he squirmed as he sought a means to do his father proud. _

_With sparks of electricity, the child's desperate ki spiraled out of control. Blood-loss had severely weakened him, but the constant overdose of adrenaline his brain was supplying the child with kept trying to raise the life-force to levels it did not yet possess. The only way his ki knew to respond was attacking its own host. Even as the voices of his tormentors grew distant and eventually seemed to disappear entirely, and the young prince came to realize he'd been left on his own, unconsciousness would not claim him. There was darkness, laughter, screaming, and that godforsaken lullaby. His mind was simply refusing to shut down; it perceived danger everywhere. Vaguely, he could feel his ki ripping his own flesh apart. He wondered how it would feel to die, slowly, with such utter awareness – but without control. _

"Vegeta."

Blood started dripping from Bulma's hands as she persisted; continuing to shake the saiyan man who would not wake. Sparks of electricity had started surrounding him. At first she had retracted her hands after a light touch, shocked by the sharp pain and the blood welling up from what looked like a small paper-cut. Now, at the third attempt, she'd finally managed to hold on – she wasn't planning to stop until she succeeded. Whatever was happening to him; he was hurting both of them in his unconscious state.

She was a genius. She'd told him she could fix anything. There was no way he was going to slip away on her now. No way.

_A female voice. The saiyan child started to wonder if, now he was nearing death, the image of his mother and the once comforting lullaby would start to haunt him again. The voice was distant; like it came from some kind of underwater-cave. Everything else he heard was loud, unmistakable, painful… The voice sounded distraught and the child found that it hurt him, that he… cared. He wanted to reach out, but couldn't find the voice's source. His eyelids refused to respond to his demands. He didn't even know where they were. If only he could shut out the screaming… If only he could… Hear what she was saying. _

"Wake up you ape, goddammit wake up! If you want to become a super saiyan and surpass Goku, then **now** is the time to annoy me with your stubborn habits and **wake the hell up!**"

The turquoise-haired beauty didn't even realize what she was screaming anymore. She felt like the white walls of the infirmary were closing in on her, like her heart was being ripped from her body, like the sunshine coming from the window wanted nothing but taunt her…

_Super… saiyan… his father had said he'd become one, one day._

"Listen to me. Trust me. Just wake up. Heal. I know you can become a super saiyan if you train hard enough… but you need to **live**, Vegeta. Wake up. Wake up or I'll kill you."

For as far as the genius was concerned, she was just rambling inconsistent thoughts now; the pain to her hands had started to spread to her arms, her vision was rapidly becoming blurry, and it was as if a snowstorm made her brain go numb. She was clawing at straws and she knew it.

At least she thought she did until the world stopped and she was thrown backwards; onto the cold floor, facing the bed-end.

"Don't make threats you can't back up."

Vegeta looked like a ghost, a dead man; his eyes had sunk so deep into their sockets that it seemed like emptiness gaped at her.

"You don't look like someone strong. You can't kill me. How do you know my father?"

_This didn't make sense. She'd said the same thing his father had once said, hadn't she? If only he'd train hard enough, he'd become a super saiyan one day. And where the fuck was he? It didn't look like any room in Frieza's spaceship, nor in any base he knew._

"What do you mean? You know as well as I do that I don't know –"

"Don't be presumptuous! It's the only explanation!"

His voice sounded different. Raspy as usual, but the huskiness was missing.

He somehow didn't quite sound… Grown.

"When I met you, you and Goku were the only two saiyans left, Vegeta. Your father died a long time ago, somewhere before your planet was destroyed. There's no way I'd know him."

Shock, followed by anger.

"Don't lie to me, female. I am a crown prince, under protection of Frieza's treaty – weaklings like yourself approach me with reverence or die."

"Do you remember Nappa? You killed him a couple of years ago, when you came here, on earth. You battled Goku here. You call him Kakarot," Bulma pressed on, hoping that cold fact would reach Vegeta.

Whatever was happening behind these onyx pools, Capsule Corp's heiress could not tell. But the silence unnerved her. Silence always had.

"Your people are dead – but so is Frieza."

_Frieza, dead? How… he'd been taunting him only seconds ago. Had the drugs left him in that state for that long? Had his father disposed of the lizard? Would he be able to return home?_

"Then I demand you take me to planet Vegeta."

"Are you not listening to me? Your people are dead. Your planet is gone. This is your home now. Earth."

The adventurous female realized that Vegeta would be having a discussion about that topic with her right this instant had he been in his right mind. But she felt in her heart that it _had_ become his home, even if he chose to deny it.

Revulsion. Hatred. The lost prince tried to get up, but found himself pushed back by his injury.

Bold as she'd always been, Bulma did the only thing she could think of.

She walked up to the bed, climbed on top of it, crawling over Vegeta, pushing her blue orbs within an inch of his black ones as she ignored the close proximity of their bodies.

"Remember me."

It was an order. No more, no less. The orders Vegeta, crown prince of all saiyans, hated so much. The orders he felt were below his dignity. The orders he'd never been taught to accept unless they were missions for interrogation or battle, knowing he'd one day defy them.

_What was he supposed to remember… This woman thought she knew him, approached him as if he posed no threat, refused him royal treatment, yet also seemed to proclaim to be on his side… What was she… _

The aqua-haired daredevil pressed her body against his, keeping her eyes locked with his.

"Remember me," she repeated.

Something seemed to change in Vegeta's disposition as their bodies were pressed together; only separated by Bulma's clothing. His eyes remained unfocused, but his body responded to the female so close to him as if he couldn't stop himself. His lips touched hers as he never ceased to look into those ocean-deep cerulean orbs. Capsule Corp's heiress opened them intuitively; she felt his tongue, then his teeth sink into her lower lip. Even his physical focus seemed to waver as he quivered, closed his eyes and rested his fevered forehead against hers.

A silky finger beneath his chin; forcing him to look up again, his eyes to open…

"Remember me, Vegeta."

_A crisp night, the woman, in his arms… the space-ship that had become his gravity room… an anchor-shaped galaxy in the sky… all that was left of a long-lost race._

"Bulma…"

A moment passed. A moment in which the saiyan prince seemed to either decide or realize he was vulnerable, and in a position he did not deem princely.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, woman? Get off me!"

"Why excuse me, my prince," the blue-eyed vixen eyed him mischievously. "As a genius, I sometimes have to do what I consider best to up your health."

He grunted, but found that his injury was quickly trying to grasp his mind and have him plummet into unconsciousness again. He didn't object as she lay down next to him. She would do whatever she wanted no matter what right now. He'd get her later.

But… he couldn't quite comprehend the flavor he tasted in his mouth. It was pleasant.

"I don't know what you've done to me, but don't expect to get away unpunished –" he started, one last gaze at the aqua-haired vixen now lying beside him; an innocent look on her visage.

She giggled. "I don't intend to, prince-ass."

If unconsciousness wouldn't have decided to claim him then and there, he would've throttled her for her brash insinuation. He couldn't possibly have felt more puzzled.


	8. Puzzlement and Frustration

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

* * *

Chapter 7: Puzzlement and Frustration

"Are you quite sure you don't need anything, honey? I've got some scrumptious pastries here, you know; and maybe you'd like a cup of tea?"

Bunny Briefs stood in the door-opening to the infirmary, watching her daughter give her a reassuring smile as she half-sat up in the bed she was currently sharing with that handsome, injured man.

"Maybe just a sandwich and some juice, mom… But I have to be careful not to wake him."

Only half-aware of what she was doing, Capsule Corp's heiress put a stray strand of aqua hair behind her ear in an attempt to improve upon her appearance. Not that she wasn't always radiant; but she'd practically done nothing but lie in bed with Vegeta for three days now; only getting out to shower, go to the toilet and groom for a bit. He was unconscious most of the time, so he hardly noticed her presence, and when awake, he simply didn't have the strength to be bothered.

Bulma was trying very hard to convince herself that the prince secretly found her lying against him comforting, although she realized this might be wishful thinking on her part. Still; the fever hadn't entirely lifted and she could almost swear that he woke up looking confused sometimes, only to unclench his fists and relax his muscles when he set eyes on her.

That; and the adventurous female hadn't quite forgotten the kiss he'd inadvertently given her in a moment when his defenses had pretty much been gone.

Sure, she was confident he didn't remember this; but wasn't it the same thing as when people got drunk and they started acting upon truths they were either hardly aware of or simply refused to give in to? If anything, her resolve to get him after he was well again had strengthened.

He was totally smitten with her, she was sure of it now; and her looks considered, she couldn't blame him. And her lying in bed with him during his time of illness in just a bra and panties might help bring that subconscious fact to the surface. She grinned.

"Are you still with me, Bulma?"

The blue-eyed vixen looked up only to see that her mother had appeared near the bed-end with a tray with orange juice and two sandwiches balancing on her right hand and a very familiar basket filled to the brim with sandwiches swinging slightly in her left.

"I was just telling you that your expression went a bit vacant, so I went downstairs to make you brunch, and made Vegeta sandwiches too in the meantime; just in case he wakes up and feels hungry. Saiyans need to eat to heal up; it always did the trick with little Goku! Were you daydreaming about your relations with dear Vegeta, sweetie?" she mischievously fished for information, her blue eyes suddenly open and glinting knowingly.

Her daughter flushed as she took the platter from her mom, passing the saiyan next to her a quick glance to ensure he was still sleeping.

"Haven't had any –" she started hissing through clenched teeth.

"Oh; setting the stage to make sure you will then! I can't blame you, Bulma – Kami, if I had still been single, I'd have known! Little Goku's taken, after all… Well, good luck."

Before the genius had been able to utter a single word in response, her mother had put the basket on the nightstand next to Bulma and left. She could be astoundingly swift when she felt she needed to be the one having the last word; a quality that had obviously passed genetically.

* * *

For some reason, even though she'd been as physically inactive as she could possibly be for days now, Bulma had been overtaken with exhaustion after finishing her brunch. Within seconds, a slightly restless slumber had overtaken her; supplying her with plenty of dreams in which she was chased by dinosaurs and a couple concerning the horror of the imminent explosion of planet Namek she'd experienced, with no way out. The transition from those images to that brisk voice – which was rudely disturbing her – went rather slowly. But when the question was repeated and reality started to sink in, the heiress still felt confused.

"What?"

An aggravated sigh.

"For the last time, woman – why the hell are you wearing a bathing outfit?"

Bulma blinked in confusion. She took in her surroundings slowly; Vegeta, his bare torso visible as he was sitting up in bed, was holding a sandwich from the basket he'd evidently found. He must've crawled over her to get to it.

At that thought, the radiant beauty looked down on her perfect body. Not one part of her was covered in sheets. She must've kicked them off when attempting to outrun dinosaurs in her dreams; possibly what had awoken the saiyan prince, too. And her underwear…

Suddenly it dawned on her and she smiled. Vegeta was mistaking her underwear for the bikini she wore when swimming in the pool. It made her wonder what alien women wore underneath their clothes if this was unfamiliar to the man next to her.

"It's not intended for swimming, monkey-man. For one; the fabric is different."

He squinted, then shrugged.

"Whatever."

He didn't have the energy to cope with her idiocy right now, and focused on eating his sandwich. It was the first time he actually felt something of an appetite again; something he'd better act upon now he could. If the female felt the incessant need to brush her bare skin against his, or to display as much as she could in front of him… well, it was not his problem.

As he ate, he vaguely recalled her remark about not intending to get away unpunished. It had been a couple of days since then, and he felt sure something strange had happened… He just couldn't put his finger on it.

It made him deeply uneasy and he audibly growled with displeasure at the memory. He may have given her ammunition against him without knowing it, but with this wench, there was no way of finding out anyway. Yet he was clueless as to what her remark had even been referring to. He had an inkling, but it was like vapor; it just wouldn't solidify and become… clear.

Somehow, though, the prince had decided that telling the woman to leave would be the very same thing as letting her win some game they were playing. And there was no way in hell he was ever going to let her claim victory over him like that.

"Did you make a time-machine, like that purple-haired goofball had, to fetch this basket and annoy me, woman, or does your mother simply keep more of these in stock?"

The turquoise-haired beauty giggled girlishly. She remembered it vividly; Vegeta had been staying at Capsule Corp with the Nameks for only a week when Bunny Briefs had asked her to take a basket of sandwiches to the haughty saiyan.

Considering the all-nighter she'd pulled before that, she hadn't been too happy with the job. After falling asleep at the guy and making some comment about him hugging trees, she'd left him to his own erratic moods. In the end, one of these moods had caused him to incinerate the basket he'd considered 'girly'; something she'd only found out much, much later.

"The latter, asshole. Although it'd be amazing to make a time-machine like that… I wonder if the guy made it himself; he was young, but he seemed smart like me. And he was obviously impressed with my dad's work, whenever he came from. He might have had a knack for technology. I wish he hadn't left so damn suddenly; I would've loved to see a plan of that machine…" she rambled as her thoughts wandered.

Like a rubber band, having been stretched and tensed and then let go, Vegeta's loud snort snapped Bulma back to this world.

"Smart like me -" he mimicked her derisively; amused. "If the boy trips over everything in sight of him and has as much trouble collecting his thoughts as you, I'm sure you're right."

"Oh, shut up," she cooed, and she put her head on the prince's shoulder as he stiffened and attempted to continue eating for an awkward couple of minutes; the heiress smiling.

"I wish to shower. I don't know in what room of this godforsaken building you've put me, so you'll bring me to the nearest bathroom. Now."

"Your wish is my command, princy-ass. Let's see if you're able to walk without falling."

He stumbled and fell on his knees in the hallway. Bulma grabbed his arm, but for the first time in days, maybe even weeks, she met the coldest stare she'd seen in decades. It brought goose-bumps to her arms and legs and made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. If she hadn't released his arm within the second and left him to struggle by himself… She swallowed; shaken. She was certain he wouldn't have hesitated in hurting her.

* * *

Annoyed and baffled by the sudden cold treatment, Capsule Corp's heiress had finally got dressed. In the saiyan's presence, no less. The first bathroom they'd come across happened to be the bathroom Bulma had grown accustomed to use privately. A lot of the clothes that no longer fitted in her bedroom closet were stocked here, and – infuriated – she'd taken a pair of jeans and a tank-top and started putting them on over her underwear as Vegeta had waited until he could finally get his shower.

She needed fresh air. She'd gone out on a stroll as soon as she left the bathroom to that ape, and he could forget it if he thought she'd be waiting to assist him after he got out. If he could get to the bathroom by himself, he could get to the infirmary and back to bed by himself too. And if he didn't do that and went out to train… well he'd just train himself to death for all she cared. She **hated** him. How on earth could she ever even have entertained the thought of getting it on with the guy? Pure loathing was pumping through her veins; she couldn't even think clearly.

The most aggravating of all was that she couldn't figure out **what** had caused this abrupt change in his demeanor. He hadn't said anything; but his whole aura, everything he emanated… If one of the Z-warriors had been around, she was fairly sure they'd have described his ki as menacing or even evil. There was something about him right now that definitely said 'intent to kill'. All that consoled her was that his conduct did lack that insane quality he had had when still on Namek; that inherent _wrongness_ that had made him smirk and be entertained by everything that her moral standards told her ought not to be amusing.

Maybe he just wanted to 'put her in her rightful place' as he'd so often suggested; something she, surely, would never allow that cocky man to pull. But the truth was, right now… she actually did feel something akin to fear. And she didn't like it one bit. Luckily, Bulma Briefs knew just what to do with these rare instances of discomfort or fret... Barge right back in.

* * *

His steaming black mane of hair still dripping and a towel in hand, he came face to face with the woman yet again after exiting the shower-cabin.

He'd already been in the shower when she'd exited before, leaving the door unlocked. Vegeta didn't attempt to cover himself, and, asides from her eyes going out of focus and her gaze dropping a little for a moment so fleeting that a human wouldn't have noticed, the heiress didn't show any kind of shock or embarrassment at having walked in on the naked saiyan. Not even the vulgarly open approval she might have chosen to go for, had she been in a state of mind which could be referred to as 'regular' or 'natural' in the case of Bulma Briefs.

They glared at each other, both unmoving, for several minutes.

"I'm sick of your games, earthling. Get out of my way. I return to training tomorrow. Do as your told, make my equipment and otherwise stay out of my sight, and I just might let you live after I destroy these androids and kill Kakarot."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Hey folks, sorry this is all for now, short chappie I know, but I haven't written in quite a while now. Need to get my feel back for a bit too. Next chapter will be called 'Seek to Wound', can't make any promises as to when that one will be out. Had an enormous hectic month full of exams and shit, and will have more exams upcoming month, have practical days for school too, on **Saturdays** for crying out loud, so yeah… But I finally had a bit of inspiration and I hope you enjoyed! I'm so sorry I'm lacking the time to get back to comments personally at the moment – I really always loved doing that and I'm sorry I can't anymore… but every comment I get is appreciated, reviews are VERY welcome… always read every single one of them and they put a smile to my face ^_^


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